


Ghosts

by GilShalos1



Series: He Does The Maximum [11]
Category: Law & Order, Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Complete, Crimes & Criminals, Detectives, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, F/M, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Legal Drama, Mystery, Police, References to sexual violence, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-16
Updated: 2008-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-21 23:37:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 56
Words: 103,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8264614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GilShalos1/pseuds/GilShalos1
Summary: A brutal crime strikes close to home for the DA's Office – and raises ghosts. Police and prosecutors must catch and convict a monster in a case that strains professional and personal bonds, and pushes all involved to the edge. McCoy takes charge of the investigation and prosecution despite the concerns of those around him. All involved must confront the ghosts of past cases. Ultimately McCoy must find a way to lay the ghost haunting him to fulfil his promises to those who look to him for justice.





	1. Bailed

**Author's Note:**

> I am not NY native or indeed an American, as my woefully inadequate knowledge of NY geography and the American legal system makes perfectly clear! I do, however, love Law and Order. Here, we get the episodes years late and often out of order, which has led to my long-standing confusion between who is in the show when and why and how old they are. My fannish imagination therefore has its own chronology, which differs from the show's canon in only three substantial ways: Lennie Briscoe didn't retire; Jack McCoy was snap-frozen ten years ago (since that's the age he is in the reruns that are all our free-to-air channels see fit to give us) ; and stories diverge from canon at the beginning of series seventeen.

_One need not be a chamber to be haunted;_

_One need not be a house;_

_The brain has corridors surpassing_

_Material place._

_Emily_   _Dickinson_

* * *

 

**Bailed**

_Arraignment Court_

_9.30 am Wednesday 25th October 2006_

* * *

 

"Bail is set at one hundred thousand, cash or bond," Justice William Koehler said, and banged his gavel. Regan Markham gathered together her papers and headed towards the back of the court. She stopped to rifle through her files and double-check that she had just arraigned her last felon for the morning.

"Docket ending 438," the court officer called out, and a shackled defendant was led past Regan. "People v Edward Walters, charge is rape in the first degree, assault in the first degree."

"How do you plead, Mr Walters?" Koehler asked.

"I didn't do it, sir," the defendant said. Regan half turned and gave him the once-over: shaven head, prison tattoos.  _Maybe I'm guilty of profiling,_ she thought  _but he looks like a rapist to me_.

"Do the people wish to be heard on bail?" Koehler asked.

"Yes, your honour." Although Regan struggled to remember the name of the young ADA who answered, she recognised the smooth helmet of dark blonde hair from the corridors and elevators of the DAs Office.  _Mary something?_ " Mary Firienze for the People, your honour. We ask for remand. Mr Walters brutally raped and sodomised the victim, Annie Levy, before beating her so badly she will require extensive reconstructive surgery."

"Don't try the case in arraignment, Ms Firienze," Koehler warned.

"No, your honour. But the brutal nature of the crime, the ongoing risk to other members of the community, and the fact that the victim has been able to identify the defendant - "

"That's not strictly accurate, your honour." The speaker was a well-dressed man whose prematurely white hair gave him a paradoxically youthful look. " Larry Heinlin for the defence, your honour. ADA Firienze has – I'll be polite and say she's been  _misinformed_  about the strength of the People's case. There is no forensic evidence, my client has an alibi, and the identification will not survive a Wade hearing."

"Your honour, the victim picked the Mr Walters out of a photo array conducted under normal procedures in hospital," Mary said. "There's no problem about the identification."

"Except that Annie Levy just died in surgery, your honour, so her identification is inadmissible."

Regan could tell from the way Mary Firienze's head went up that she hadn't known. Still, she recovered well. "In that case, your honour, the People will be amending the charge to add felony homicide – and since the identification will qualify under dying declaration, we see no reason our request for remand should not be granted."

"Nice try, Ms Firienze," Koehler said, "but an identification via a photo array in a hospital ward does not qualify as either a dying deposition, excited utterance, or outcry testimony."

"That's a matter to be determined at the Wade hearing, your honour," Firienze said.

"And I'm not willing to remand a defendant based on nothing more than an identification that may or may not be admissible," Koehler told her. "Bail is set at seventy thousand cash or bond. Trial date set down for – November 29th."

Firienze's shoulders slumped. Edward Walters laughed, and as he was led away he leaned across and murmured something to Mary Firienze. Even from the back of the courtroom Regan saw the other ADA flinch.

She waited until Firienze headed for the exit and then fell in step beside her. "Hey," she said. " Mary, right? Special Victims Bureau?"

"Yeah," Firienze said.

"I'm Regan. Trials. You got a bad bounce there."

" Casey Novak is going to kill me," Firienze said.

"I don't know what else  _I_ would have done," Regan said, and Firienze smiled gratefully.

"This guy, he's a bad guy," she said. "What he did to Annie Levy – the way he beat her, the torture – I can't get it out of my head. We gotta get him off the street. And I just as good as let him walk."

"You have to play it as it lays," Regan reassured her. "All you can do."

"Thanks," Firienze said. "I'll try telling that to Novak."

They turned in opposite directions at the courtroom door. Regan headed down the stairs to Trial Part 58 to see if Jack McCoy needed anything from her before she headed back to the office. He was opening in a racketeering case with no-one sitting next to him, although Regan was listed second-chair. The rest of her day was blocked out for a final prep of the People's witnesses, and she'd be in court with McCoy tomorrow.

She slipped into the back of the court and waited until McCoy caught her eye and shook his head slightly. Dismissed, Regan headed for the elevators.

As she was waiting for the elevator she felt a hand on the small of her back. Turning, she found herself face to face with Edward Walters.

"Hey, babe," he said, and licked his lips.

Regan reacted without thinking. "Get your fucking hand  _off_ me, skell," she said, dropping her voice low into her best 'bad cop' register. "Or I'll rip it off and shove it so far up your ass you'll be able to pick your teeth from the inside."

Walters hand came off her like she'd turned radioactive. "Hey, no need to over-react, sweetheart," he said.

"Fuck off," Regan said. "Right now." She moved closer to him and he backed up, then turned and walked quickly away.

"Everything all right?"

Regan turned back towards the elevators and found herself face-to-face with a big man with close cropped hair, broad-shouldered, hard-faced. Heart still pounding, she braced to deal with him.

"What the fuck do you want?" she growled.

He flashed a gold shield. " Elliot Stabler," he said. "SVU. Was he bothering you?"

Regan took a breath, forced herself to calm down. "Nothing I can't handle," she said. " ADA Markham, Trials. I see my fair share of skells."

"He's bad news, ma'am." Stabler said. "Don't get in over your head with these guys."

"I know what kind of news he is, detective," Regan said. "But thanks for the advice."

"You know he raped a woman and beat her to death?" Stabler said.

"I saw the arraignment," Regan said, refusing to let him shock her. "You the one who collared him?"

"And my partner," Stabler said. "I can't believe he's bailed. Firienze fall asleep in there?"

"She did her best," Regan said, liking this man less and less with every sentence out of his mouth.

"Our bad luck Casey Novak had to handle a pre-trial motion this morning," Stabler said. "She wouldn't have let – "

Regan cut him off. "Detective Stabler, sometimes cases just turn to shit on you, and there's nothing you can do. Don't blame Firienze. If she'd had any forensics to work with the outcome might have been different."

"Yeah," Stabler said, seeming unconvinced. "Do you know where I can find her?"

"I think she went back up to case conference." Regan said.

"Okay." Stabler said. "See you around, ADA Markham."

"Yeah, sure," Regan said to his departing back.  _I hope Mary's all right_ , she thought.  _That guy sure has an over-supply of macho._

Regan remembered Firienze flinching from whatever Walters had said to her and shook her head as she got into the elevator.  _Mary might have years of seniority on me in the DA's Office_ , she thought,  _but she's a kid, all the same._

_I'll call her tomorrow. Take her to lunch or something. Give her a couple of tips about dealing with macho cops and creepy perps._

_Tomorrow._ Today, she had Jack McCoy's witnesses to prep. Regan was sure she could handle cops and criminals, but an EADA with under-prepared witnesses … that was an entirely different story.


	2. Real Bad News

_10th Floor_

_One Hogan Place_

_7.45 am Thursday26th October 2006_

* * *

 

"Hey!"

Regan looked up from her papers to see a familiar face peering in her door. "Hey yourself, Qiao. How's Rackets?"

"I'm up to my ass in wiretaps. Every day. All day. I never  _see_ a courtroom. Nine seventy on my bar exam and I'm listening to a bunch of mobsters scratch their balls and bitch about their wives." It was a familiar complaint from the young ADA but Regan was surprised at a new edge of bitterness in his tone.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I always thought Rackets would be exciting – more hands on, more law enforcement."

"Maybe we should swap," Chen said coldly, and there was no way Regan could miss the venom in his tone. " Jack McCoy could get a  _qualified_ attorney as an ADA and Rackets could get an ex-cop who  _already_ knows how to sit on her ass and eat donuts all day."

Regan felt as if she'd been punched in the gut. She sucked air past the sudden lump in her throat. "Something I can do for you, Qiao?"

"Well I'm not making a social call!" He slapped a handful of manila folders on her desk. "McCoy wants these. They're for Piotrowski. It's on today."

"Okay," Regan said. It occurred to her to tell him she knew  _People v Piotrowski_ was on today because she would be sitting to McCoy's right at the bar table, but she thought better of losing  _all_  chance of repairing their working relationship.

Chen turned on his heel and stalked off. As Regan flipped through the folders he'd left, familiarising herself with the contents before taking them in to McCoy, the faint nausea left by Chen's malice ebbed. It was actually kind of funny, when she thought about it, that Chen would see as a plum assignment the job Regan had got and kept because everyone with options had dodged the bullet.

She tucked the folders under her arm and hefted the box of exhibits for the day's trial, thinking  _More fool them._ Her working relationship with Jack McCoy might have started out rocky – he had a hell of a temper and keeping up with his extraordinary appetite for work was exhausting – but Regan was beginning to feel as if it might actually be worthwhile. McCoy might be irascible and demanding much of the time, but there were still moments when he took the time to explain his reasoning, teach Regan some courtroom trick or legal stratagem, when he showed a camaraderie that could even be described as warmth.

 _No doubt about it_ , Regan thought, shifting the box of exhibits to her hip to knock on McCoy's closed door,  _he can be a charming SOB when he wants to be_.

"Come in," McCoy called. He was buttoning his shirt as Regan opened the door. "And good morning, Regan. Ready for today?" he asked as she set the box down on his desk.

"Sure," Regan said.

"Is that sure as in, Yes, Jack, I'm sure I'm ready? Or sure as in, sure Jack, whatever you say?" McCoy asked, giving her a roguish smile.  _And there's the charm_ , Regan thought, unable to keep from smiling back.

"Can I say, well, Jack, a bit of both?" Regan said. McCoy laughed.

"Are those the papers from Rackets?" he asked, scooping his cufflinks out of his top drawer.

"Qiao dropped those off. The first three are wire-tap transcripts. The fourth is – "

McCoy's phone rang. "One sec," he said, tucking the receiver between his shoulder and ear as he started threading his cufflinks. "McCoy."

Regan couldn't hear what the voice at the other end of the phone said as she waited, folders still in her hand, but she saw McCoy's fingers freeze with his cuff still half-turned, saw the colour drain from his face.

"Are you sure?" he asked hoarsely. At the answer, he closed his eyes, cufflink slipping forgotten to the floor, and then reached out blindly for the desk to support himself. "Yes. Where? And are you – yes. Thank you, Captain. Keep me informed."

He stood motionless for a moment longer, then opened his eyes. All trace of warmth was gone from his gaze. Very slowly he replaced the receiver.

" Jack?" Regan asked. "What's wrong?"

"That was Captain Don Cragen from Special Victims at the sixteenth precinct." McCoy said, voice barely louder than a whisper. "The super at Mary Firienze's apartment building found her in the garbage room this morning."

" _Found_ her?" Regan asked, sensing horror about to enter her life like a thunderstorm growling just over the horizon.  _You find people who are lost. You only find people when they are lost. Oh, Mary, please, don't be lost. Please, Mary, don't be lost._ "What do you mean,  _found_ her?"

"On the floor," McCoy said. He was looking at Regan but his eyes were focussed somewhere in the distance behind her,  _somewhere downtown in a garbage room, somewhere a young woman with dark blonde hair was 'found' ._ "Bound, beaten, sexually assaulted."

"But I saw her yesterday." Regan said, knowing how ridiculous the words were as she said them. She had heard them a hundred times in her years in uniform, from a hundred victim's friends and families.  _Always the same. Always futile._  Still, the words kept coming. "I saw her in arraignments. Are they sure?"

"Yes," McCoy said harshly, and cleared his throat. "They think she was attacked after she got home last night, before she made it inside her apartment." Moving mechanically, he picked up his tie and began to put it on.

"Is she – is she?" Regan asked.

"Cragen said she was still alive when they put her in the bus," McCoy said.

"Oh my god," Regan blurted, suddenly thinking of yesterday's arraignment, thinking of a big man with prison tattoos. " Edward Walters. She was arraigning him for rape and assault. He got bail because the ID went south when the victim died. He made bail, too."

"I'm sure they'll cover every option," McCoy said distantly, putting on his jacket.

"Yeah but, listen, they might not know, Walters came up to be after the arraignment, got in my face. What if he followed Mary, too?"

McCoy focused on her. "He got in your face?" he asked sharply. "What do you mean?"

"He put his hands on me, tried to freak me out. Didn't work, and I sent him packing. But Mary – "

"Did you report it?" McCoy asked.

"No, that's what I'm saying, the Ds on the case might not know about it." Regan said impatiently.

"So you're telling me that a potentially dangerous violent felon approached you, manhandled you, attempted to intimidate you  _in the courthouse_ and you're just _now_ mentioning it to anybody?" McCoy's voice rose to a shout.

Regan saw where he was going, or thought she did. A lump came to her throat. "Oh god," she said. "If it is him – if I'd had him picked up yesterday, then Mary – oh god."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Ms Markham," McCoy said, voice icy with fury. "Even if you had no concern for any of the other women in danger from this man, I cannot believe you had so little sense of  _self_ -preservation. An  _appalling_ lapse of judgement."

"I'm sorry," Regan said. "I'm so sorry. I'll call the sixteenth."

"I'll do it," McCoy said. "I need you to draft a substitution notice for  _People v Piotrowski._ Call Cutter. Tell him he's taking over."

"What?"

"Are you deaf?" McCoy snapped. "If he wants you in the second chair, stick with the case. If not, bring him up to speed."

"But what are you - ?"

"I'm catching on Mary Firienze," McCoy said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, as if it was perfectly ordinary for the EADA to take case right out of the gate before it even reached the complaints room.

"If Cutter doesn't want me on Piotrowski, I'd like to work that with you," Regan said.

"No, I'll need someone right away," McCoy said. "This is top priority. I won't compromise the case. I'll pick an ADA from the pool." He started for the door.

Regan gaped after him, then pulled herself together and followed.  _He wants a real lawyer_ , she thought, feeling sick, then realised that she was worrying about her career and McCoy's opinion of her while Mary Firienze –  _oh god I'm despicable_ , she thought, feeling sicker. " Mr McCoy, Qiao Chen in Rackets has mentioned wanting to work with you."

"Good, send him to meet me."

"Where are you going?" Regan said.

"To the scene," McCoy said as if it were the stupidest question he had ever heard.

"No sir, you need to go to the hospital," Regan said without thinking, then quailed a little from his glare. " Mr McCoy, her family, whoever, they'll be there. They need you to go there. You and Mr Branch and probably the Police Commissioner. Sir, they need to see the faces of the men who'll get justice for Mary."

McCoy stopped dead and looked at her for a moment. "You're right. All right, you're right. Tell Chen to meet me at the scene. I'll go there from the hospital."

He strode off towards the elevator without another look at her.

Regan stood still a moment after he left her. There were things she had to do, she knew there were things she must do, but she couldn't seem to bring her mind into focus.  _I have to_ -  _I must –_

 _Edward Walters walking away from her, on his way to hunt down Mary Firienze_.

"Oh god," Regan gasped. She clapped her hands over her mouth to press back a sob. Quickly she turned and hurried back into McCoy's office, shutting the door behind her.

There were things she couldn't afford to think about if she was going to get through the next few hours: Edward Walters walking away from her; Mary Firienze smiling; Jack McCoy's voice like a dying man's as he said 'bound, beaten, sexually assaulted'.

Regan leaned against the door for a long moment, forcing all of that out of her mind.  _I have to – I have work to do – I have to –_

She went to McCoy's desk and used his contact list to get Cutter on his way to work. Yes, Cutter would meet her ASAP. No, he was happy working with his usual ADA. Yes, he'd be glad of the briefing – but he'd been following the investigation, so he didn't think he'd take up too much of her time.

 _Fine_. Regan grabbed a blue-back from McCoy's desk to draft the notice of substitution. As she stood up to leave a glint of metal on the floor caught her eye. It was McCoy's abandoned cufflink.

She knelt down to pick it up. The metal square was cold in her fingers. Touching it, Regan remembered it falling to the floor, remembered McCoy's face as he asked  _Are you sure_  in the voice of one hoping against hope.

Regan bowed her head. An onlooker might have thought she was praying. Regan herself would not have dignified her inchoate imploration with the word 'prayer'.

 _Please,_  she begged,  _please, Mary, please._

She clenched her fists. McCoy's cufflink bit into her palm, and Regan bore down on it until the pain was the only thing she could feel, her mind cleared of everything else.

Slowly, using McCoy's desk to pull herself up, Regan stood up. She prised her fingers loose and dropped McCoy's lost cufflink in her pocket.

When she closed McCoy's door behind her, her hand left blood on the knob.


	3. Lost

_Mr McCoy, this is Captain Don Cragen. There's really no good way to tell you this so I'm just going to say it._

Jack McCoy watched the elevator numbers change, counting down to the first floor. He didn't feel any impatience at the slow progress of the elevator.

He didn't feel anything except a bitter cold too bone-deep for him to even shiver.

 _I've got real bad news. ADA_   _Mary_   _Firienze is in the hospital. Her super found her this morning in the garbage room. She was attacked. Beaten, tied up, raped._

_McCoy's fingers are numb. His hands are suddenly cold as marble. He fumbles the cufflink, drops it. He is cold all over. "Are you sure" he asks Cragen, stupidly. Are you sure, because please, let it be a mistake._

_Cragen answers him but McCoy is hearing a different voice._

_We've found a car, Anita_   _Van Buren says._

 _I'm sorry, Mr_   _McCoy, we're quite sure, Don_   _Cragen says._

Halfway across the foyer, McCoy realised he needed to call Arthur Branch. It took him two tries to sign out at the security desk. It took him three tries to dial Arthur Branch's home number.

Branch was outraged and appalled. McCoy would have expected nothing else. He listened to  _God damn, Jack_ and  _We've got to get this bastard, Jack_  and  _This is our office's top priority, Jack_  and agreed at the right moments as he made his way out onto the street and hailed a cab. Finally he managed to break into Branch's tirade and tell him which hospital Firienze had been taken to.

"I'll be there," Branch said.

"I'm on my way now," McCoy told him, and hung up.

As the cab threaded through the morning traffic McCoy tried to keep his mind focused on  _the case_ , on  _the Firienze case_ , but he kept seeing Mary Firienze hurrying for the elevator in One Hogan Place, blonde bob swinging, laughing as she dashed through the closing doors. Kept imagining blonde hair matted with blood.

 _Kept seeing a familiar face swollen and bruised, distorted by tightly wrapped tape, eyes bulging_ -

And when he rubbed both hands over his face to scrub that image away, it was replaced with Regan Markham staring at him in horrified disbelief. Saying  ** _Found_** _her? **Found** her?_  _But I saw her yesterday. Are they sure?_

 _"We've found a car," Anita_   _Van Buren said._

_"Have you heard from Ricci?" Abbie asked, worry in her voice._

The cab pulled up at Mercy General and McCoy shoved some notes at the cabbie and got out without waiting for change.

It was easy to spot Mary Firienze's family in the waiting room: there were half-a-dozen cops in uniform or plain clothes sitting with them or standing near by.

McCoy caught Don Cragen's eye and the captain met him at the nurses' station. "How is she?"

"She's in surgery," Cragen said softly. "They're trying to stop the internal bleeding. Her head injuries are severe: if she makes it through surgery she'll be moved to intensive care and put in an induced coma. He hit her. A lot. Knocked her head on the concrete floor."

"Did they get any forensics before she went into theatre?"

"Rape kit, clothes, the duct tape she was bound and gagged with, all on their way to the lab. But the nurse said it looks like he used a condom."

"Any leads?" McCoy asked.

" Edward Walters. He made bail yesterday morning on a very similar charge because his victim died. One of our detectives saw him hassling another prosecutor in the courthouse, a female prosecutor."

" Regan Markham?"

"I don't have a name," Cragen said.

"ADA Markham told me this morning Walters "got in her face" yesterday at the courthouse." McCoy felt his anger at Regan Markham return.  _It is beyond me how she can have so little common sense. As if she's fucking bullet proof. As if she's different. As if it could never be her on the floor of a garbage room, in the boot of a car, in a bloody ruin on green carpet in a so-called 'safe' house …_

" Mr McCoy?" Cragen asked. "Did you hear me?"

"Sorry," McCoy said. "What were you saying?"

"I said Elliot Stabler saw it go down. He's at the scene now but I'll put in a call and see what's what."

"If this bastard is picking his victims from the women who catch his eye in the court system you need to alert all your female officers who had contact with him, and the female lawyers who dealt with his case."

"Well, thank you, Mr McCoy, because that hadn't occurred to me," Cragen said.

"Captain, you can get as pissy as you want with me," McCoy snapped, "but I am going to take the same interest in this case as you would if it were a cop from the sixteenth fighting for her life. And that isn't going to change. So learn to live with it."

He turned away without waiting for Cragen to answer, and headed for the family group in chairs. There were familiar words to be said, and he said them, keeping his professional courtroom demeanour between himself and the Firienze family.  _Everything possible will be done_. Their faces, blotched with tears, were hard for him to look at.  _The District Attorney's Office has made this our top priority._ McCoy forced himself to meet Mary's father's gaze, her brother's.  _I will personally prosecute this case._ He reached out and took Mary's mother's hand.  _We will do everything in our power to make the man who hurt your daughter pay._

He said everything he was supposed to say, and then McCoy couldn't get out of there fast enough. "Have someone call me when she comes out of surgery," he said to Cragen as he passed. "Or if anything changes."

_We will do everything in our power to make the man who hurt your daughter Alex pay._

_We will do everything in our power to make the man who hurt Toni pay._

_We will do everything in our power to make the man who hurt Casey pay._

_We'll make them pay, Danielle_

Standing on the sidewalk, McCoy closed his eyes for a moment, saw  _duct tape_ saw _smooth blonde bob_  saw  _bloody green carpet and matted red hair_  saw  _the trunk of a car_  …

He turned sharply towards the wall and bent over, vomiting up his morning coffee.

 _Making them pay_. McCoy straightened up and wiped his mouth. He looked around for a cab.

_As if that's possible. As if there's ever a price that could be high enough._


	4. Garbage

_East 22nd St_

_8.55 am Thursday 26th October 2006_

* * *

 

"Heads up," Detective John Munch said. "Pissy-looking EADA at 3 o'clock."

Olivia Benson gulped the last of her coffee and crumpled the cup. " Mr McCoy." she called, and the EADA changed course and came towards her. " Captain Cragen said you were coming down. There's an ADA here waiting for you too. Qiao Chen?"

McCoy looked momentarily blank, then light dawned, and he nodded. "I'll talk to him later. I need to see Detective Elliot Stabler and then I'll need someone to take me over the crime scene and what you have already."

" Elliot's my partner," Olivia said, suppressing her irritation at his highhandedness.  _He shouldn't be here. He should let us do our jobs._ But Captain Cragen had been clear: the DA's Office, in the person of EADA Jack McCoy, should have everything it wanted. "He's in Mary's apartment. I'll take you up to him."

They had to thread their way through dozens of cops, uniform and plainclothes, as Olivia led McCoy into the building. Many of the cops on the scene were off-duty volunteers, here on their own time.

Mary Firienze had a third floor apartment in a building with no doorman but security buzzers at the front door and chains and a peephole on a good solid door. _That works if you can get inside and get the door closed_ , Olivia thought.  _Mary didn't make it that far._

Elliot was in Mary's kitchen, wearing gloves and looking through drawers. Olivia put her hands in her pockets and noticed that McCoy had enough knowledge of crime scene procedure to do the same.

"This is Detective Stabler," Olivia said. " Elliot, Mr McCoy needs to talk to you."

"My ADA told me this morning she had an altercation with one Edward Walters yesterday after he made bail," McCoy said. " Captain Cragen said you saw Walters harassing a female prosecutor. Was it Regan Markham?"

"ADA Markham, yeah." Elliot shrugged. "I wouldn't call it an altercation."

"And that's why you didn't follow it up?" McCoy said harshly.

"It didn't seem much of anything at the time and she said she could handle it," Elliot said. Olivia could detect the tension building beneath his calm tone.

"She said, quote, 'He put his hands on me. He got in my face.' And you thought  _that_  didn't need any follow up because a  _rookie junior prosecutor_  thought she could  _handle_ it?" McCoy's voice was loud enough to draw the attention of the CSU techs in the next room.

"Yes," Elliot said, his own voice picking up volume. He spoke clearly and slowly. " Walters went up to her, he tried to spook her, she stepped into him pretty hard and she sent him running. I suggested she be more careful about getting in the grill of a guy like that and she blew me off, told me not to blame Firienze for losing remand and that was that." Elliot spread his hands wide. "I gotta tell you, Mr McCoy, she looked like she had it all under control."

McCoy took a deep breath, and Olivia jumped in before the level of testosterone in the room reached dangerous levels. "Sounds to me like she probably saved her life, Mr McCoy. Walters picks women he thinks he can control. We like him for four other rapes besides Annie Levy and they were all shy, even timid, ordinary looking girls. Is your ADA a looker?"

"No," Elliot answered for McCoy. "She fits his profile."

"Except clearly not so shy," Olivia said with a smile. McCoy didn't smile back, and Olivia got serious again. "We were surprised he'd picked a vic as good looking as Mary – Huang says he finds classy women intimidating. But if he fixed on this Markham and got his balls broken for his trouble, maybe he took a chance."

" Mary wouldn't have been intimidating once he got up close to her," Elliot said. He grimaced. "She was a lightweight."

"And with this man roaming the courthouse looking for female prosecutors, you didn't think to get any protection for Ms Markham or Ms Firienze?" McCoy asked, voice rising again.

"I told Mary about Walters. I told her to watch her back. I told her to call me on my cell when she finished work and I would take her home and put her inside her door. When I didn't hear from her I called her and she said she'd met up with a friend and she'd be fine."

"Not good enough, detective," McCoy said, shaking his head over and over. "Not good enough."

"I don't need  _you_ ," Elliot said tightly, "to tell me that."

"All right," Olivia said, getting in between them. "I'll get someone over to the DA's Office to get a statement from your ADA, Mr McCoy. Elliot, what do we have here in the apartment?"

"No sign she ever made it inside the door – no surprise there. Uniforms found a bag of groceries in the lift from the local bodega – milk, bread. That's what's low in the fridge, but forensics and the canvass will confirm if they're hers. Nothing written on the calendar for last night. Message from her father on the answering machine – he was coming round on the weekend to help her hang some shelves." Elliot paused a moment. "You do what you can to help them out," he said softly.

"Did you check her TiVo?" Olivia asked.

"For what?"

" Mary was a big fan of hospital dramas. She never missed her shows. If she'd been planning to be out, she'd have set the TiVo to record."

"I'll look into it," Elliot said. "But I gotta say, it's looking pretty clear that she was grabbed in the lift, taken down to the garbage room, done there, dumped there."

"How could he be so sure he wouldn't be interrupted?" McCoy asked.

"Sign on the door," Olivia said. "'Closed for fumigation.' He braced it from the inside – casual visitor would have thought it was locked."

"Plenty of time," Elliot said. "And he took his time."

"Oh, god," McCoy said so softly Olivia wasn't sure she'd heard him. It brought home to her that Jack McCoy's personal stake in this case made him more than a fellow professional.  _He shouldn't be here,_  she thought, but with none of her earlier umbrage.  _He shouldn't be in the middle of this. No-one should have to be._

_He shouldn't be putting himself through this._

Olivia turned to McCoy and saw he was pale. Before she could ask if he wanted to get some air or sit down, he swallowed hard and seemed to pull himself together. "Who have you got going over her office?"

"Munch and Finn. They're overseeing the building canvass right now," Olivia said. "They'll go down to Hogan Place after."

"All right. Show me the scene."

"Are you sure?" Olivia asked. "It's pretty graphic down there."

"Don't second-guess me, detective. If I'm going to prosecute this case I need to see  _everything_."

"All right," Olivia said.

The garbage room smelt rancid with the previous day's trash, but the underlying note of blood and shit and vomit was worse. Olivia could ignore it after a moment, but McCoy put his hand to his mouth. Olivia showed him the bins they thought the perp had used to blockade the door, the sign they'd found discarded in the corridor, Mary's briefcase and purse.

She was hoping the whole time that he'd see enough and leave but he didn't and finally she couldn't put it off any longer. "And you can see here on the floor the blood and fluids where Mary was lying when the super found her."

"Yes," McCoy said, voice cracking. He cleared his throat. "Yes. I see."

" EMS cut the tape to get her on the gurney and you can see the scraps there by tag 4." Olivia pointed. "We don't have any photos in situ of course but we caught some luck with the super. His son gave him a new cell-phone with a video camera for his birthday this year. While he was on the phone to 911 he tried to video Mary to show them her condition, to get some advice on what to do. Of course, 911 couldn't receive the video but it was recorded to the phone. The phone's on the way to forensics."

"I want to see it. As soon as possible."

Olivia hesitated. "I sent it to my phone before we bagged it."

"Show me," McCoy said.

He watched the grainy video on the tiny phone screen in silence, the blue light making his craggy features seem even more haggard. Olivia had seen it. She didn't need to see it again. Didn't need to see Mary with one leg bent underneath her at an impossible angle, arms bound behind her so tightly her fingers were blue, tape wound over her mouth and all around her head and over her eyes, clothes torn to shreds, bruises purple on exposed flesh, blood streaking her thighs.

McCoy handed the phone back to her in silence, the faintest tremor in his hand. He turned away and looked around the cramped, filthy room. Olivia could guess what was going through his mind – the same thoughts that would haunt her. The room was dark with Mary Firienze's pain and fear.

"Is there anything else?" McCoy asked finally. He ran his hand over his mouth.

"We'll have the witness statements to you as soon as they're ready," Olivia said. "But so far, I haven't heard that there's anything material."

"You'll keep asking?"

" Mr McCoy." Olivia said patiently. "You know we'll do our job."

McCoy looked around the room again. "I want this bastard, Detective Benson," he said, the words tight and clipped. "His previous victim died?"

"Yes," Olivia said, " Walter's most recent victim died. We think he has a history but none of the previous women could identify him and he's  _very_ careful about forensics."

"I want him for the murder. For everything he's done, every single fucking thing, if he  _jaywalked_ , do you understand me? No oversights. No mistakes. No slip-ups."

"We're taking this personally  _too_ , Mr McCoy," Olivia said.

"I know," McCoy said. "And detective, I hope you – and the other female detectives working this case – are being particularly careful."

"We're always careful," Olivia reassured him. "The job makes us more of a target. We know."

"You get guns," McCoy said. He looked down at the stains on the concrete floor. "The job made Mary more of a target too. What did she get?"

Olivia had no answer to that.


	5. Burning Bridges

_"No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear."_

_C.S._   _Lewis_

 

* * *

 

The sunlight of the street was a welcome relief after the subterranean claustrophobia of the garbage room. McCoy took a deep breath of cold air, as fresh as it ever was in Manhattan.

"Detective," he said to Benson, "Why don't you go up to One Hogan Place and search Firienze's office yourself?"

"Because it's usually procedure for partners to work together, Mr McCoy," Benson said. "And my partner, Detective Stabler is the primary on this and is working the primary scene."

"I'm aware of usual procedure," McCoy said. "But in this case I think it would be useful to have the benefit of your approach at Hogan Place." Benson looked like she was going to argue further, but McCoy cut her off. "I'll call Captain Cragen if I have to, detective."

"Fine," Benson said. "I'll tell my partner, and get right on it."

McCoy watched her turn on her heel and stride away. She wasn't happy at his interference, and McCoy didn't blame her, but there were other considerations he had to take into account. One Hogan Place was the best place for Olivia Benson at the moment, until they had Edward Walters in custody. McCoy hoped that would be soon. He was out on bail so the police should be able to find him. Maybe even at that moment he was being arrested.

It would not be possible to get the death penalty for him, not as the law now stood. McCoy shook his head.  _Still, no statute of limitations on murder. If we can get him for what he did to Firienze we have twenty years for the legislature to sort out judicial instructions in capital crimes and then we can try him for murder._

The courts wouldn't like the DA's Office holding back on a charge to shop for sentencing.

_Burn that bridge when we come to it._

" Mr McCoy!"

McCoy turned to see a young Asian man in an expensive overcoat hurrying towards him. "Yes?"

" Mr McCoy, I'm Qiao Chen." Chen thrust out his hand, leaving McCoy no choice but to shake it. "Your office told me to meet you here?"

It took a moment for McCoy to remember – Regan Markham standing in his office, wanting to come with him, wanting to work on this case, and the panic that had struck him at the thought, at –  _trunk of a car and inside, dark hair trapped under tape –_  and then hearing his own voice talking, saying something, saying _anything_  that would keep her inside the building, that would keep her from realising he saw her dimly from a distance, as if he glimpsed her across a churning midnight sea.

She had suggested Qiao Chen. McCoy would have agreed to anything at that point.

Now he had to live with it.

" Mr Chen," he said. "How long have you been here?"

"Since 8.30. I came straight here after your office called."

"What do you think?"

Chen shrugged. "It's pretty straight-forward. I hear from the detectives she had a run in with a bad guy yesterday at arraignment. His MO is the same as this. Open and shut. If the police do their job, of course."

"Oh, I see." McCoy scratched his cheek. "Did you have a look around?"

"Yes, sir. I made sure the CSU techs knew to get good clear pictures of the blood and the discarded purse and briefcase. And her shoes in the corridor, too. We got lucky with the super and his cell phone – did Benson tell you –"

"Yeah," McCoy said. "Did you watch it?"

"Yes, sir. It's great. I think that once we get this guy in the dock and blow that footage up on a large screen TV the jury will throw away the key."

McCoy could only look at him in silence. Chen didn't seem to notice anything wrong.

"The only access to the building is the front door," Chen went on, "so best guess is he pushed in behind someone or rang the buzzers until he found someone careless."

"He got in the lift with her. He had to have come in right after her." McCoy pointed out.

"Or been waiting," Chen said defensively.

"Well, that makes sense, Mr Chen, because he'd  _definitely_ know where she lived." McCoy snapped.

"Okay, well how about this: he followed her, pushed in behind  _her_  and chased her into the lift."

_He would have grabbed her and pushed her forward ahead of him,_ McCoy thought,  _and she would have known then what was coming. Forced down on the ground – hit – then the tape –_ "Yes," McCoy said dully. "That's probably how it happened."

Chen's face split in a wide grin, delighted to be right.

Before he could tell Chen just what he thought of that unseemly delight, McCoy's cell phone rang and he turned his back to Chen to answer it.

"You wanted to know when Firienze was out of surgery," Cragen said on the other end of the line. "She's been moved to intensive care and put into a coma. Her condition is listed as critical."

"Thanks," McCoy said, and hung up. He turned back to Chen. "Let's go."

Chen talked all the way to the hospital, despite McCoy's lack of response. McCoy couldn't make sense of the younger man's chatter, rehashing the evidence at Mary's apartment, talking about charges – his eager voice was drowned out by others that spoke on in memory.

_I'm sorry, Mr_   _McCoy, we're quite sure, Don_   _Cragen says._

_We've found a car, Anita_   _Van Buren says._

_"Looks like Ricci caught it when she opened the door to leave," Briscoe says, as if 'caught it' could possibly capture whatever had left Toni Ricci a bloody ruin on the floor._

"Sir?" The cab was stopped and Chen was trying to get his attention. McCoy realised they were at the hospital.

Don Cragen had left, as had some of the cops McCoy has seen earlier. There were some new faces with the Firienze family in the ICU waiting room. One of them was Casey Novak.

She got up and came towards them. " Jack," she said. "And - ?"

" Qiao Chen," Chen said, shoving his hand out. "Rackets. Major Felonies, now." Novak gave him a perfunctory handshake and spoke right past him to McCoy .

"It's good of you to come, Jack," Novak said. "I know it will mean a lot to Mary's parents. I can introduce you - "

"I've already spoken to them," McCoy told her. Novak looked a little nonplussed, and McCoy explained: "I was here earlier. I heard from Cragen that Mary is out of surgery. I wanted to see how she is."

"Well, there's no visitors," Novak said. "But since she's not conscious – "

"I know," McCoy said. "I don't expect to get a statement from her. I came to see her."

"To see her?" Novak asked.

"I need to see her, Casey," McCoy said. "If I'm going to prosecute this case – I'm going to get up in the courtroom and make the jury  _understand_ what happened to Mary Firienze so that when they look at Edward Walters all they can see is  _her_ face. And I can't do that unless  _I_  can understand it, unless  _I_  can see it.

"Okay, let's back this up a minute," Novak said. "You're going to prosecute this case?"

"Yes."

"It's a Special Victims case, Jack," Novak said.

"A Manhattan assistant district attorney was attacked by one of her defendants," McCoy said. "If that isn't a major felony, I don't know what is."

"We don't know yet who committed this crime," Novak said. "Until we do, the investigation should be carried out by the book. It's a Special Victims case."

"It's whatever I say it is!" McCoy snapped. Heads turned in the waiting room and he realised how loudly he'd spoken.

"All right," Novak said. "I'm not going to get into a pissing match over jurisdiction right here in the waiting room. We all want this guy. I'm not too proud to second chair on a case like this."

"No!" McCoy said, then swallowed and moderated his tone. " Mr Chen will second chair. You won't be involved in this case, Casey."

"But that's – "

"That's my call and that's the way it's going to be!" McCoy said. " Jesus, Casey, how many times am I going to have to tell you until you get the point? This is not your case, and you are not working it. That's final. Final!"

Casey looked like she was going to argue further, but McCoy glared at her until she swallowed and backed down. He knew he hadn't heard the last of it, though. Casey Novak didn't give up on anything easily.

_Another bridge I'll worry about when the time comes_.

"Come on," Novak said after a minute. "I'll show you where Mary is."

She led them to the door of the ICU, pointed through the glass window in the door. McCoy could see the frame that held the blankets off Mary's legs, the machines all around her, Mary's mother at her bedside in a sterile gown and hat.

"One visitor, for ten minutes in every hour," Novak said. "Obviously family has priority."

Mrs Firienze moved away from the bed and Mary Firienze became visible. Distantly, McCoy heard Novak make a wordless noise – horror, grief. The woman on the bed, head shaven and bandaged, face bruised and swollen, was unrecognisable.

_There's really no good way to tell you this …_

"Wow," Chen said. "Is she going to be all right?"

_We've found a car_  …

"No, Mr Chen," Novak said tightly, "she was beaten and raped. She is not going to be  _all right_.  _How_ long did you say you've been in major felonies?"

_They got her when she opened the door …_

"Since this morning," Chen said defensively.

"Since  _this morning_?" Novak turned to McCoy. "I see you're putting your A-team on Mary's case, Jack."

McCoy dragged his attention away from the motionless figure in the bed, turned to Novak and saw her with  _bruised face pale in the hospital bed_ , _Olivia Benson standing by the door_ , saw _bloody carpet_ , saw _duct tape_  saw  _the trunk of a car_  –

" Chen, will you go use the phone at the nurse's station and check with Mr McCoy's office for his messages?" Novak said. "Right now, please."

McCoy turned away from her and found himself looking at the ruin of Mary Firienze again, turned away from that and leaned on the wall.

" Jack, are you okay?" Novak asked softly. McCoy realised that she was standing so as to keep herself between him and any inquisitive eyes.  _That's Casey_ , he thought with weary affection.  _She'll bust my balls without reservation but she's loyal to her friends._

"This shouldn't happen, Casey," McCoy said. "This shouldn't happen. This shouldn't keep happening."

"Keep - ? What do you - ?"

"I'm going back to Hogan Place," McCoy said. "Stay here – go back to your office – it's up to you. But  _stay off the case._ "


	6. Benched

_10th Floor_

_District Attorney's Office_

_One Hogan Place_

* * *

 

" Regan Markham?"

_There's a way cops say that_ , Regan thought before she even looked up.  _Whether they're looking for a suspect, a witness, a family member to inform – the voice is always the same._ She had to resist the urge to say  _Who wants to know?_  because that was, after all, the next step in the dance.

Instead, she turned her chair towards the door of her office and looked up at the statuesque woman standing there. "Uh-huh." she said.

The woman flashed a gold shield at her. " Olivia Benson, Special Victims. I'm here to take a statement from you about something that happened at the courthouse yesterday."

" Edward Walters?" Regan said, and when Benson nodded, Regan turned back to her desk and picked up the papers she'd been preparing. "Here's my statement. I've filled in the complaint form and attached it to the bottom and the arrest warrant is under that – it just needs an ADA in the Complaint Room to sign off." Regan shrugged. "I can't file and be a complaining witness at the same time."

Benson looked through the papers. "This is thorough," she said, smiling. "You actually heard him threaten Mary?"

"I saw him say something to her," Regan said, "and I saw her reaction. Qualifies as menacing – at least, that's what we can tell the grand jury. That raises the stakes to felony stalking in the first. It might not stick, but we can go with a lesser included charge if it comes to trial and we don't have him on anything else."

"Good," said Benson. "I'll walk this down to complaints."

"I can do that," Regan said.

"You're not busy?"

"My desk is suddenly clear." Regan said honestly. She had made sure it would be clear for the Piotrowski trial, the biggest and most complex case she'd worked on so far.

"All right," Benson said. "I'll be down in Mary's office. For some reason your boss thought it needed a woman's touch. If you bring the paperwork back to me?"

"Deal," Regan said.

She took the paperwork down to the Complaint Room and was in and out in what she thought might very well be record time. When Regan headed back up to the Special Victims Bureau on the 6th Floor she could tell that word had spread about Mary – the staff were ostentatiously busy, keeping red-rimmed eyes turned away from the cubicle where Olivia Benson was going through desk drawers and files.

Regan saw the white latex scene-of-crime gloves on Benson's hands and that, more than anything else that morning, made it real.

"I got the paper work," she said, voice cracking. Benson looked up and smiled kindly.  _Of course_   _she smiles_ , Regan thought numbly.  _Mary's the victim, I'm the witness, that's the smile you give to civilians when you're working a case, the I'm-a-nice-cop-here's-my-compassion smile._ That wasn't fair to Benson, she knew, any more than it would have been fair to Regan herself or her partner Marco or any other officer standing in the middle of what was to the victims a profound personal tragedy but to the police, one more god-awful tragic job. But Regan felt a profound gulf between the SVU detective and herself. Olivia Benson probably knew Mary better and would grieve harder than Regan – but she was on the other side of the scene-of-crime tape with Jack McCoy, where there were useful things to be done, justice to be pursued, vengeance to be visited. On Regan's useless civilian side of the tape, there was nothing to be done but answer questions when asked, and wait, and grieve, and fear.

"Anything I can do?" she asked Benson. "Anything in those files you could use a lawyer to translate?"

"No so far," Benson said. "Looks like she didn't have much on yesterday after arraignments – her desk-diary has depositions here in One Hogan Place and a lunch date with a defence lawyer, but that's it."

"Well, I'm upstairs if you need anything."

"Listen, thanks, but we've got  _more_  help than we need from the DAs Office," Benson said. "Between Mr McCoy and his assistant…"

"I get the picture," Regan said. "Hey, do you have Walters' criminal history sheet there from yesterday?"

"Yeah," Benson said, turning over a couple of folders. "Here."

"I'll update them if you want – today's date, so on."

"Sure." Benson gave her the file. "Thanks."

"McCoy's catching on this, that right?"

"He sure is!" Benson said, just this side of rolling her eyes.

"I'll get the sheet to him," Regan said.

Back in her office, it didn't take her long to refresh the sheet. As she was reading over it again she heard the elevator ding and Colleen Petraky say "Good morning, Mr McCoy," voice professional but grave. Regan looked up but McCoy went past her office without a glance.

"I'm going to need an office up here, Colleen," Qiao Chen was saying in the hall. Regan steeled herself, picked up the sheet and got to her feet.

McCoy had closed the door to his office behind him and Regan hesitated before she knocked. She had to knock twice before she got a response.

When she went in he was still standing by his desk, gazing blankly at his chair.

" Jack?" Regan ventured.

He seemed to have to come back from a long way away to answer, but after a moment he turned to look at her, all business. "Cutter in court?"

"All taken care of," she reassured him. "He seemed happy with the brief."

"And happy to keep his own staff, I presume, since you're here." McCoy sank into his chair and ran his hands over his face.

"Yeah," Regan said, shrugged like it was no big deal.  _And on the Mary_   _Firienze scale of things, I guess it isn't._ " Jack – how's Mary?"

"Out of surgery," McCoy said, turning away to leaf through his messages.

"What does that mean?" Regan asked carefully.

"She's in a coma," McCoy said. "Induced coma. Because of the head injuries."

"Oh Christ Jack," Regan blurted. "That's no good."

McCoy turned back to her, and for a second Regan saw the man behind the professional façade. McCoy looked weary beyond measure, a man exhausted by his own anger. "It's no good," he agreed. "He had her all night in that room. He gagged her and blindfolded her with electricians' tape. He broke her right leg. He wore a condom when he raped her and when he sodomised her. He hit her, and he hit her – "

"Stop," Regan said, hands up in protest, against his words, against the images they brought. McCoy stopped and Regan turned away from him, reaching for the visitor's chair by his desk and lowering herself into it before her knees gave way.

"I'm sorry," McCoy said in a gentler voice. "I'm sorry. You don't need to – I shouldn't – but if you'd seen her. If you – I'm sorry." He ran his hand over his mouth as if wiping away a foul taste.

"No," Regan said, taking a deep breath. "You should tell me. I should – I should hear. She was alone. She shouldn't be alone now."

McCoy looked at her and Regan realised he probably thought she was a lunatic. "She's  _not_ alone now," he said softly.

"Yeah she is, Jack," Regan said.

"We're going to get this guy," McCoy said. Regan wasn't sure whether he was reassuring her, or himself. "I'm going to make sure they throw away the key – and then cement the lock. We're going to get him."

"Good," Regan said. "And listen, I swore out a complaint against Walters, ran it through the Complaints Room and got an arrest warrant to Detective Benson." She held out the criminal history file. "I refreshed Walters' sheet for arraignment, too, as soon as they collar him it's good to go."

"I thought I told you I wouldn't need you on this case," McCoy said, warmth gone from his face.

"Yes – I just thought – to save time …" Regan said, thrown off balance by the sudden change in his demeanour.

McCoy snatched the folder out of her hand. "Did you think you'd save time by getting the grand jury busy? Do you want to check with Walter's bail bondsman to see where he lives? Maybe serve the warrant on him?"

"No, I – I was talking to Detective Benson and – " Regan stammered to a stop. "I'm sorry. I thought it would help."

"Well, don't," McCoy snapped. "I don't need an assistant who doesn't understand instructions." He flipped open the folder and leafed through the pages, and then abruptly slammed it shut. "Are you going to keep meddling in this case?"

"I don't think I was meddling!" Regan protested.

"I didn't ask what you thought you were doing," McCoy said sharply. "It seems you can't do as you're asked  _or_  answer a simple question."

" Jack – "

"Why don't you take the rest of the day?" McCoy said.

"But we have other cases," Regan said.

"I'll manage," McCoy said coldly. "In fact, take tomorrow too. You're owed."

"No, I'm – "

"Go home," McCoy said.

"But – "

" Ms Markham," McCoy said icily, "When you're put on the bench,  _sit down."_


	7. Collared

_West 37th St_

_11.40 am Thursday 26th October 2006_

* * *

 

"Here we go," Finn Tutuola said into his coat-cuff. "Coming up on you now."

Olivia Benson turned to look in the shop window next to her. Behind her own reflection she saw Edward Walters walk past. She turned and fell into step behind him. Ahead, Munch turned and stood in Walters' way.

" Edward Walters?" Munch asked, badge out.

Walter turned and tried to run but Olivia was right behind him. She twisted his arm up behind his back and slammed him down on the sidewalk.

" Edward Walters, you are under arrest," Olivia said. Munch bent down and helped her haul Walters to his feet. "For felony stalking. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney …"

"Fucking  _bitch_ ," Walters snarled. "I made bail, you stupid bitch."

"One will be appointed for you. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used as evidence against you – including that, smartass." She shoved him in the back of the patrol car and shut the door on him.

"From call out to collar, four hours," Stabler said to her as he and Olivia got in the unmarked for the ride back to the precinct.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Olivia said. "We've got nothing to tie him to Firienze."

"You don't think he's a wrong guy?" Elliot asked, pulling out into the traffic.

"He's a wrong guy," Olivia said. "I just don't think he's the  _only_  wrong guy in Manhattan."

"Point," Elliot conceded. "But we can lock Walters up for stalking, we can maybe make the case on Annie Levy."

"And we can sweat him while we got him," Olivia said.

"Which I'm looking forward to," Elliot said with a grin.

He wasn't smiling back at the station house when Cragen told them that Walters was invoking his right to counsel. " Larry Heinlin is on his way over now," Cragen said. "We're playing this by the book."

"I can still talk to him, though, Captain!" Elliot protested.

"I'm not giving that mutt's lawyer  _any_ wiggle room on technicalities," Cragen said. "You want to play it fast and loose with Miranda and explain that later to Jack McCoy?"

"What's with him, anyway?" Elliot asked. "Came down to the scene and started telling me what I should and shouldn't be doing."

"The DA's Office is taking a close interest in the investigation," Cragen said, his tone telling his officers how little that pleased him. "There's nothing we can do about it, so get used to the extra scrutiny."

"Did anyone call Casey and tell her we were bringing Walters in?" Olivia asked.

"No, but I called over to One Hogan Place and left word for Jack McCoy," Munch said. "As per his very explicit instructions."

"Oh, jeez," Elliot said.

"Hey!" Cragen said. "Keep your head in the game, Elliot. That goes for all of you. Everyone's on edge with this one. I'll handle the office politics and the DA – you just keep your heads down, work the case, be polite."

"Problem is," Olivia said to Elliot a few hours later, "We haven't got that much case to work." She leafed through the papers on her desk. "Preliminary forensics, zip. Hopefully a little more will turn up when they finish running the samples – sometime next month! Meanwhile … "

" Walters has no alibi," Elliot said. He stretched. "He shaves his hair. Everywhere. He used a condom for his previous attack. It's consistent."

"The fact that he didn't leave forensic evidence  _before_ doesn't mean the lack of forensic evidence makes it him this time," Olivia said.

"Indeed, Elliot, that is what philosophers like to call a syllogistic error involving the illicit process of the minor term." Munch said, strolling past on his way to the coffee urn. "All cats have four legs. My  _dog_ has four legs. Therefore – "

"Shut up, John," Elliot said.

"It's the most common form of logical error and beloved by the so-called journalists on Fox News, or as I like to call it – "

"Shut up, John," Olivia said absently. "OK, we have no witnesses who saw him go into the building. John, did the canvass teams get statements from  _everyone_?"

"Yeah, it's a good time of day to catch people at home," Munch said. "You know what's odd? We got no-one who saw him go in – we got no-one who saw  _Mary_ go in either. And she's noticeable."

"Bodega owner?" Elliot asked.

"Groceries were hers, looks like bought on the way home," Munch said. "Her prints, the bodega owner's prints, some other miscellaneous ones. She walked out of the shop and as far as we can tell she disappeared – until the super goes downstairs to put the bins out this morning."

"So what are we left with? Let's hope forensics can find something? Let's hope Mary wakes up and can ID him?" Elliot asked.

"Let's hope Mary wakes up." Casey said from the doorway of the squad room, "In the meantime, let's do what we can to keep him off the street."

"Right sentiment, wrong pronoun," Jack McCoy said, right behind her.

"Great." Elliot rolled his eyes.

"Jack, can we discuss this privately?" Casey asked McCoy.

"Nothing to discuss, Casey," McCoy said. He pushed past her and set his briefcase down on Olivia's desk. "I heard enough to know we're not even close to a charge for what he did to Mary. What else have you got?"

"I think there  _is_ something to discuss, Jack," Casey said, fists on her hips.

McCoy ignored her. "Detectives?"

"We've arrested him for stalking in the first," Elliot said.

"In the first? Let me see the paperwork," McCoy said. He scanned the forms Olivia handed him. "Aggravated by menacing – protected employees – very creative. Who caught this in Complaints?" He turned to the last page, looking for the name.

" Tony Ravich signed the forms," Olivia said, "But your ADA Markham drew them up."

Olivia had thought to be doing Markham a favor, making sure she got props for her work. She was unprepared for the glare McCoy gave her. "That's the last thing she has to do with Walters except as a witness, is that clear?"

" Crystal," Elliot said, and when McCoy turned that glare on him Elliot gave him a big innocent grin. "So what do you want us to do?"

"Send him to the Tombs. I'll get him arraigned in the morning."

"I can handle that for you, Jack," Casey said.

" Chen will handle it," McCoy said shortly.


	8. Pissed

_10th Floor_

_District Attorney's Office_

_One Hogan Place_

_10.00 am Friday 27th October 2006_

* * *

 

Casey Novak was pissed.

She knew it showed. She might have learned the lawyer's knack of keeping her emotions hidden in the courtroom – except on those occasions when a carefully timed glimpse of genuine outrage or grief might sway an otherwise obdurate jury – but it had never been second nature. Under provocation, Casey was not one of the world's dissemblers. Casey was a straight shooter.

_Straight from the fucking hip_ , she thought. The idea of striding into Jack McCoy's office with a shotgun – or better yet, an Uzi – was, right at this moment, deeply satisfying.

The elevator doors opened, and Casey  _sans_ armament stomped through them and down the corridor. Several ADAs saw her face and remembered urgent business elsewhere. Casey stormed past them and right into Jack McCoy's office without waiting for an invitation.

" Casey?" he said, frowning at the interruption.

Casey planted her feet firmly so she could put her back into the effort, and slammed the door behind her as hard as she could. It made a satisfying crash.

She and McCoy stared at each other in silence for a few seconds as the echoes died, and on McCoy's bookshelf, two law reports fell over.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" McCoy said finally, a little wary, looking like he was working up to being as pissed as she was.

"Shut up, Jack. Just shut the fuck up." Casey stopped and took a deep breath, trying to find words that would do justice to her fury.

"I beg your  _pardon_?" McCoy said incredulously.

" _Shut_  the  _fuck_  up!" Casey raged. "After what happened in arraignment this morning – oh, you don't know?"

McCoy shook his head.

" Walters is out, thanks to your fucking stupid, no,  _brain-dead_  decisions," Casey told him. "He is  _on_  the  _fucking_  street. What sort of fucking  _stupid_  game are you playing? What kind of  _moron_  sends a baby with  _no_  courtroom experience to arraign a case against Larry Heinlin? You took the case  _away_  from me and gave it to someone who  _can't handle it_!"

" Walters got bail?" McCoy asked, clearly startled.

"R. O. Fucking. R." Casey growled. "Do you mean Chen hasn't even  _told_  you?" She clenched both her hands into fists and pounded McCoy's desk. "R. O. _Fucking._  R! God! Fucking! Damn!" Too angry to stand still, she whirled away, fists clenched, and thumped the bookshelf.

Behind her, she heard McCoy pick up his phone and dial. " Anita. Jack McCoy. Listen, I need you to put a car on one of my prosecutors. Regan Markham. No, she's at home - I'll have someone call you with the address. I'll explain later. Thanks." He depressed the receiver rest and dialled again. " Colleen, can you tell Mr Chen that I'd like to see him as soon as he gets back? Yes, very urgent. And please call Lieutenant Van Buren in the 2-7 with Ms Markham's contact details. Thank you." He hung up. "What happened in there, Casey?"

"Koehler saw through the fucking paper," Casey said, not turning around. She wanted to stay mad at Jack McCoy and she knew from experience how hard it was to do so if he didn't want you to.  _I will not let him charm me_ , she vowed. "Low chance of fucking indictment, charges a stretch based on evidence, blah-blah-smokescreen-cakes. Heinlin helped him see the fucking light. And your Mr Chen, he just stood there. Did you know he had never arraigned so much as his boss's _lunch_ before?"

"I should have asked," McCoy said. "I asked him if he could handle it."

"Long on confidence, short on goddamn judgement. Didn't know any of the right words, any of the codes. Dammit! He's  _out_  there, Jack, god  _fucking_  damn!" Casey thumped the bookshelf again. That was not enough, so she kicked it hard, and then winced. "Ow, dammit, ouch!" Tears of mingled pain and anger and frustration sprang to her eyes.

"You okay?" McCoy asked as she clutched at the bookshelf.

"No!" Casey growled, not sure if she was going to start crying or not. "I think I broke my fucking toe." She hopped to McCoy's couch and flopped down into it, trying to pull her right foot into her lap without ripping her skirt.

"Let me see." McCoy came over to the couch and knelt down. He slipped her shoe off. "Can you wiggle your toes?"

Casey did. "Ouch," she said, but it was half-hearted and from the sideways glance McCoy gave her, he could tell. Gently he felt her toes and rubbed her foot.

"Not broken," he said. "Next time use the ball of your foot when you're going to batter the furniture, not your toes."

"It's these stupid fucking shoes," Casey said sullenly. McCoy laughed, massaging her foot. His touch was sure, working the tension from the arch of her foot, sending messages straight to her hindbrain without troubling her intellect.  _I don't know why I didn't sleep with this man when I had the chance_ , her hindbrain said. As hard as she tried to hang on to it, her anger evaporated. Casey let her head fall back against the back of the couch, sighing gustily. "What are we going to do?"

" _You're_  not going to do anything," McCoy said, releasing her foot abruptly and standing up so Casey had to look up to meet his gaze. "My case, my problem."

_Oh yeah, he's an arrogant alpha-male bossy son-of-a-bitch, **that's** why. _"Now we're back where we started. Look, I appreciate you wanting to see this done right. And I'm not about to pretend that I'm any match in the prosecutorial stakes for the great Jack McCoy. But you and I  _both_  know I eat babies like Qiao Chen for breakfast. I should second chair this."

"You're too close to Mary," McCoy said, turning back to his desk. "I can't have anyone from special victims sitting in that seat."

"Too fucking close, when has that stopped  _you_?"

McCoy froze, his back to her and Casey realized what she had said.

"I was thinking of the Volsky prosecution," she said awkwardly. "Not – "

"Not the Governor appointing a special prosecutor to handle one of my cases because I couldn't remain detached?" McCoy said, his voice wintry.

"I never agreed with that decision," Casey said.

"Well, what a  _pity_  it won't be up to you." McCoy said. "I don't want to be in that position again."

Casey got to her feet. "What, realising that you're jeopardising a case because your decision-making is compromised by personal issues?" she snapped. "All right, Jack, this is what's going to happen. I'm going back to my office and I'm going to work with my detectives to find a way to pin Walters for Annie Levy's murder and the three other rapes we think he's responsible for. Those  _are_ SVU cases and you can't tell me how to handle them. If you want me off them, you're going to have to go to Branch. And I fucking  _dare_  you to do it."

McCoy stood still a moment longer, then turned to face her and nodded. "All right." he said. "I'll talk to Arthur. In the meantime – you're going straight to your office to get to work?"

"Yes." Casey said defiantly.

"Well then," McCoy said. "I'll have the officers meet you there."

"Officers?"

McCoy looked at her very steadily. "The officers who'll be making sure you're safe until I put Walters back behind bars."

Casey drew breath to argue, but something in McCoy's eyes warned her against it. "Fine." she said. "Don't forget to call me if you need any help with that."

It was a great exit line, and she took full advantage of it, turning on her heel and stalking out, head held high. The satisfaction that gave her was spoiled, however, by a nagging feeling that the case against Walters was in more trouble than she had previously realised.

_It's not just the case that's falling apart_ , she thought as she punched the call button for the elevator.

"What do you mean?" the legal secretary waiting for the lift with her asked, and Casey realised she had spoken aloud.

"I don't know," Casey admitted. "I don't know what I mean."

_I don't know what I mean, but I know I'm right._

_It's not just the case that's falling apart._


	9. Tapped

_Office of Assistant United States Attorney Abbie_   _Carmichael_

_The United States Department of Justice, Southern District of New York_

_Criminal Division_

_One St._   _Andrew's Plaza, Manhattan_

_2 pm_   _Friday 27th October 2006_

* * *

 

" Jack!" Abbie Carmichael greeted McCoy with a kiss on the cheek and a warm embrace. "I heard about Mary Firienze. I'm really sorry. And you look like shit, by the way."

His arms closed around her, warm and whole and safe. "There's that famous Texas tact. You look great, Abbie," he said. "Really well. Married life suits you." He held her for a moment longer, then let her go in order to look at her at arm's length. "How's Tom? Is he back?"

"For a few weeks. And he's great." Abbie slipped her arm through his and steered him toward the chairs and coffee table at the end of the room.

"We miss you over at Hogan Place," McCoy said, sitting down. "You know, if you ever get tired of being a big fish in this big pond, you can come back in a heartbeat."

"You've given my job away!" Abbie teased him. "I'm sure there's someone else in my office now."

"Temporarily," McCoy said, pleasure at seeing her vanishing the way warmth rushes out of a house with a wide open door.

Abbie raised an eyebrow. "I'm going to ask you about that sometime soon," she said. "But I'm due in Rebecca Steinman's chambers in fifteen minutes and your secretary told my secretary that you needed to see me about a case?"

"About the Firienze case, actually," McCoy said. "The cops from 16th SVU picked up a suspect yesterday, Edward Walters, but couldn't charge him. He was bailed on a rape-agg-assault charge two days ago and harassed Mary and another prosecutor in the courthouse, so we charged him with stalking in the first."

"Sounds reasonable," Abbie said. She leaned back and folded her arms. "But your expression tells me there's a catch."

"I don't think it will stand up past the grand jury," McCoy said. "But that's not my main problem. The charges were designed to get him off the street for the moment, before he takes it into his head to target another one of my ADAs. This morning Judge Koehler released him R.O.R."

" Jesus, Jack! What happened?"

"I made a mistake in who I sent to arraign him," McCoy admitted. "Now I'm here to ask you to help me fix it."

"What do you need?" Abbie asked immediately.

"Open a file on Walters. Mary Firienze is a government employee. So is the ADA that Walters threatened."

"They aren't  _federal_  government employees," Abbie said.

"Intimidating officers of the court undermines the justice system as a whole," McCoy said. "I'm not asking you to file charges. Just – extend yourself a little to keep an eye on him."

"An eye?" Abbie said skeptically.

"And a comprehensive electronic surveillance warrant."

Abbie looked at him for a heartbeat. "Okay," she said. "Okay, but I want in on the case."

_Tape - dark hair - trunk of a car -_

"Absolutely not," McCoy said. He hoped Abbie couldn't see the cold sweat he could feel beading on his forehead.  _Red hair and bloody green carpet -_

"Oh, come on, Jack," Abbie said.

" _No_ , Abbie," McCoy said, trying and failing to keep his voice conversational. " Edward Walters man raped and beat a woman called Annie Levy. She died of her injuries. The morning after Mary Firienze arraigned Walters for that crime, the super of her apartment building discovered her in the basement – bound, tortured, raped and sodomized. She may or may not ever regain consciousness. I don't want this man in your life, Abbie, I will not be responsible for bringing this man into your life. And if that means I have to find a way to make a case against him without your help, I will do it." McCoy realised he was almost shouting, and took a deep breath. In a more normal tone, he said: "This is a deal breaker, Abbie".

"I don't need you to protect me from my  _job_ , Jack," Abbie said.

"But this isn't  _your_ job," McCoy said.

Abbie frowned at him, tapping her fingers on her desk. "This is something else I'm going to talk to you about at another time." She looked at her watch. "But not now. All right, Jack. Send me the details."

McCoy took the envelope he'd brought from his inside jacket pocket. "Here. Everything you need – reporting conditions, addresses, associates, social security." He laid the envelope on her desk.

"Okay. I'll make sure the proceeds of the investigation are sent to your detectives. And in return, Jack,  _you_  will keep me in the loop on your case." Abbie grabbed her briefcase and coat and stood up. McCoy stood as well.

"I'll keep you in the loop," McCoy said, "but remember the deal."

At the door, Abbie stopped and looked back at him, head tilted. "You really do look like shit, Jack. Why don't you come round for dinner tomorrow? Tom and I would love to see you."

McCoy shook his head. "I don't know, Abbie, I have a – "

"No argument," Abbie said. " Seven thirty tomorrow. And don't think of bailing – I'll send Tom after you. After HALOing into Afghanistan to chase the Taliban, hunting down a stray dinner guest in Manhattan will be a piece a cake. So don't be late."


	10. Carpeted

_Office of EADA Jack_   _McCoy_

_One Hogan Place_

_4 pm_   _Friday 27th October 2006_

* * *

 

After dealing with a case conference at the courthouse on his way back from Abbie Carmichael's office, McCoy was tempted to call into  _McMurtrey's Bar_  on his way back to Hogan Place. He resisted, but back in his office he dug the scotch bottle out of his bottom drawer and poured himself a generous slug. As he picked up the glass he noticed again the missing cufflink on his right wrist and searched one handed through the top drawer.  _Damn it!_  When was the last time he'd seen it?

_There's no good way to tell you this …_

He knocked back the scotch and picked up the phone, dialling internally. " Colleen. Where's Mr Chen?"

"I think he's in one of the conference rooms, Mr McCoy," Colleen said. "He came by about an hour ago. We don't have an office for him – "

"Get him in here," McCoy said, and hung up the phone. The cufflink wasn't on his desk, either.  _Dammit!_   _I only started wearing these damn snooty shirts becauseAlex gave me those damn cufflinks!_

She had been so eager to see him open the Christmas gift she'd bought that first December, so crest-fallen when his poorly-concealed bemusement clued her to look at his wrists and realise that he'd never need or wear them. There was nothing for McCoy to do but buy a few shirts with old-fashioned cuffs.

_I never was any good at disappointing her. Nowhere near as good as I should have been._ If he'd been better at ignoring what Alex wanted, what Alex said, then -

_\- trunk of a car and the smell of blood and vomit and tape pulled so tight her mouth gapes with it -_

McCoy considered and rejected another drink, shoved the bottle back in the drawer and turned to the pile of blue-backs on his blotter delivered in his absence.

He was fully absorbed when Qiao Chen cleared his throat. McCoy looked up, startled, and saw the young ADA standing in front of his desk. " Mr Chen," he said. "How was arraignment this morning?"

Chen hesitated. "All things considered I think it went as well as could be expected," he ventured at last.

"Your expectations of the arraignment process seem to differ from mine, Mr Chen," McCoy said, slinging a completed form across his desk. " Edward Walters got released on his own recognisance. Right?"

"Yes," Chen said.

"And now, Mr Chen, I'll bet you're wondering how I know that, since you have not been to see me all day, or sent the file in."

"I guess someone told you?" Chen said.

"Someone told me," McCoy agreed. He finished another form, slapped it on the pile. "We need to get a few things very clear, Mr Chen."

"Yes, Mr McCoy," Chen said.

"You fucked up this morning."

"I did my best, Mr McCoy, the judge – "

"You weren't prepared to handle the kind of hail-Mary we had on Walters this morning. That's not your fault. What  _is_ your fault is telling me you were ready."

"I didn't think – " Chen said, stammered, and tried again. "I didn't think I wasn't."

"How many felony arraignments have you handled?" McCoy asked.

"Until this morning I haven't actually … " The young man's voice trailed away.

" _This is not a case for you to learn on!_ " McCoy snarled.

"No, Mr McCoy," Chen said meekly.

"You will  _tell me_  when you have less than  _perfect_  confidence in your ability to handle as aspect of this case."

"Yes, Mr McCoy," Chen said.

"And, particularly important, you will  _keep me informed_. I don't  _ever again_  want to hear about a development in the case third hand. It is now seven hours since Edward Walters was R.O.R. I am your  _first_  phone call. The file comes  _directly_  to my desk. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mr McCoy," Chen said.

"That's all, Mr Chen," McCoy said. "Leave the case file with Colleen."

"What about – " Chen started, cleared his throat. "What about the rest of the case? Am I off the case?"

McCoy looked at him. A dull ache started in his temple.  _Am I off the case?_ Suddenly, he wanted to go down the hall to the office Regan Markham was using. _How's Mary? … You should tell me …_  But Regan was at home, where he'd sent her, where she was safe. And Chen was here, and that was his own decision, and he had to make the best of it.

"You're not off the case," he said.

Chen beamed with relief, and turned to leave. McCoy let him get to the door before he spoke again.

" Mr Chen?"

Chen turned.

"There's not change at the hospital," McCoy said. He watched Chen wonder for a second too long what he meant. "I knew you'd want to know."

When the door had closed behind Chen and McCoy was alone again he reached again for the bottom drawer. Edward Walters on the street. Qiao Chen on the case. Casey Novak slamming his door and Abbie Carmichael issuing non-negotiable dinner demands. He piled them all up but eventually he ran out of problems and his mind turned from  _Captain Cragen complaining to Arthur Branch_ to –

_Mary_   _Firienze in the hospital._

_Dark hair and tape – blonde hair shaved to show sutures – green carpet stained rust red with blood –_

He ran his hands over his face, wiping away the cold sweat that had sprung out on his forehead.

_"Alexandra Cabot has been shot dead," Branch said bluntly._

McCoy poured another drink, carefully, concentrating against the fine tremor in his hand.

_"We've found a car," Anita_   _Van Buren said._

_"There's no good way to tell you this_ …"

He swallowed the scotch and rested his forehead against the cool glass.  _Just get through this case. Just put this bastard away. Just keep them safe. That's all you have do. Just get through this case._

One case among the thousand he had dealt with. Just one case.

_Just get through this one case._

_No problem._

_Sure._

_No fucking problem._


	11. Don't Take It Personally

_Broadway Breslin  
1186 Broadway_

_5.30 am Saturday 28th October 2006_

* * *

 

Briscoe was wondering whether or not to have a second cup of coffee when the front door of the Broadway Breslin opened and Regan Markham came out in sweatpants and sneakers.

"Heads up," he said to Green. "Uh-oh, Ed, I think she's made us."

Markham strolled over to the unmarked and waved at the two cops. Briscoe rolled down his window.

"Morning, Counsellor," he said.

"Hey, Lennie," she said when Briscoe wound the window down. "What's up?"

"Your boss asked the Lieu to have someone watch over you," Briscoe said. "And Ed and I could use the overtime."

Markham bent down to look past him. "Morning, Detective Green. McCoy requested protection for  _me_?"

"From Edward Walters." Green said, leaning over to see her through the window. "You hear he got ROR yesterday morning?"

"No," Markham said. "No, I didn't hear. So you guys been here all night?"

Briscoe shrugged. "Couple of hours. No-one mentioned it to you?"

Markham grinned. "McCoy benched me off the case, sent me home when I argued. Given how pissed he was with me, I'm surprised he didn't send my address to Edwards."

" Jesus, no," Briscoe said, shocked. "Not even in jest, Ms Markham."

"Well, maybe he guessed I'd ditch you guys if I knew you were here."

"Now, there will be none of that," Briscoe said. "I'm too old to be chasing down women who don't want to be followed. You going jogging?"

"Yeah, I'll try to stick to main roads," Markham promised.

"Good," Briscoe said. "I wouldn't want to have to take this heap of junk down into the subway."

"You're hilarious, Lennie," Markham said, straightening up and turning away. "Just fucking  _hilarious_."

"Hilarious and underappreciated," Briscoe said, starting the car and pulling out to follow Markham.

"Do you think he'll try and snatch her?" Green asked.

"Who know with these freaks?" Briscoe said.

"Maybe we should have been inside last night," Green said. "He took Firienze inside  _her_  building."

"Yeah, Ed, but the one-six weren't sitting on Walters twenty-four-seven when he did Firienze," Briscoe pointed out. "They had an eyeball on him when Corenze and Kellerman pulled up here last night. No way for Walters to get into the building except through the front door. If we don't see him go in, he isn't in."

"Except if he goes in while we're watching Markham's ass," Green pointed out.

"Yeah, well, we'll walk her up," Briscoe said. "Meanwhile, it's a nice ass. And why don't you check on Walters?"

Green picked up the radio, made the call. Walters hadn't been seen coming out of his building that morning. Green gave dispatch their position and hung up.

"You know, normally we arrest guys who do this," Briscoe said, turning left as Markham did. "Whenever I get sick of my job I think about the opportunities to follow good looking women around."

"Maybe we can persuade the LT to send Ana Cordova as a jogging partner," Green said, grinning.

After half-an-hour they pulled back in front of the Breslin and Briscoe parked.

Markham came over to the car and used it to balance herself while she stretched. "So you on me for the rest of the day?" she asked.

"Until midday," Briscoe said. "There's a couple of patrol officers from the 1-6 taking over then. If you could tell us your plans for the day, that would help."

"I'm going in to the office," Markham said.

"Working Walters?"

"Nah, McCoy's made it clear he doesn't want me anywhere near that case."

"Well, he's working it with sex-crimes," Briscoe said. "He probably wants one of the SVU Bureau prosecutors."

"No. He picked a guy out of rackets." Markham said. She shrugged, tried to smile. "Guess he wasn't sure I could cut it on this case. It's pretty high profile."

"Don't take it personally, kiddo," Briscoe said. "McCoy … this case has gotta be pressing some of his buttons." He got out of the car. "I'm gonna walk you to your door, okay, counsellor?"

"Such a gentleman," Markham said.

* * *

 

"Such a gentleman," Regan said again when Briscoe opened the back door of the unmarked for her thirty minutes later.

He gave her a little bow and shut the door after her. "NYPD, ma'am," he said. "We have  _standards_ , unlike your more provincial police forces in, say,  _Seattle_."

"Yeah, those Seattle cops," Regan said, settling in. "Bunch of hicks, all of them."

Regan surprised herself by how easy she found it to skate past it as a joke – after two years of expecting the world to crack open if she heard the words  _Seattle_  or _shot_  or  _police_  in a sentence with her as the subject. She looked out the window at the light Saturday morning traffic as Briscoe and Green's bickering about that week's sports scores made a soothing background noise.

After a while Regan realised she was looking at the pedestrians they passed, watching for Walters. She turned away from the window. "Do you know how the case is going, detectives? Mary's case?"

"I heard McCoy called in a few favours and got the feds to put Walters under the microscope," Green said. "But I also hear we got nothing so far in the investigation – no forensics, no witnesses."

"This skell comes after me, I hope you guys are gonna shoot him," Regan said.

Briscoe pulled up at One Hogan Place. "We'll take care of you, counsellor, don't worry."

Green got out when Regan did and walked her into the building while Briscoe parked the car. Although she wouldn't have liked to admit it – especially not to McCoy – Regan  _did_  feel safer with Green checking out her office and the rest of the floor, hand on his gun.

"I'll be out here by the elevator," Green said. "You just need to yell if you need me. I'll be able to see your office door, too. You'll be okay, Ms Markham." He gave her a reassuring smile.

"I know, detective," she said. "I'm not worried. But do you think you could call me Regan? At least outside business hours!"

"Okay, Regan , and you call me Ed. Especially if you see something that worries you – call me Ed good and loud."

"Top of my lungs," Regan promised.

She settled herself into her office. She had no open cases on her docket but she did have one outstanding matter: Serena Southerlyn's harassment. Regan pulled out the files on Jennifer Walker's murder, her complaints about harassment and stalking, the copies Regan had made of the charges against Otis Langdon for his harassment of Serena, and Serena's own record of the anonymous letter, abusive phone calls, and vandalism at her home. She had started to prepare a list cross-referencing all of it to see if there were any incidents that couldn't be attributed to Conroy or Langdon.

She had got halfway through it, working on it in the evenings after finishing her work for McCoy.

_Although this is **also** work for McCoy, _Regan thought _, since he asked me to do it. It just isn't work for the DA._

Serena hadn't reported any new incidents that week. Patrol cars were doing regular drive-bys of her house probably had something to do with that.  _NYPD won't keep that up forever_. Regan wanted to be sure before that happened that Serena didn't have anything else to worry about.

_Because, first off, she seems like a nice lady. And secondly, because Jack_   _McCoy likes her and wants her safe. And maybe if McCoy owes me a favour he'll be a little nicer to me._

It seemed like a vain hope, especially today. But she had to find a way to make the relationship with McCoy work. It was the best chance she had. And there were moments when she thought that on the other side his capricious hostility and sudden changes in mood there was a man she would like to know, a man whose intellect and humour were fascinating, whose charm was captivating, whose dedication was admirable.

_And then there's the other ninety-nine percent of the time_ , Regan thought, sighing at the memory of his furious condemnation of her 'meddling'.

She filled in another few lines of her cross-reference file. That one was Langdon – that was Conroy –

The elevator dinged and Regan turned in her chair.

"Morning, Counsellor," she heard Ed Green say, and relaxed.

"Morning, detective. Are you waiting for me?" It was McCoy's voice.

"No, I'm keeping a watchful eye on your prosecutor," Green said.

" Casey Novak?"

" Markham. She's just down there."

Regan steeled herself. A moment later she heard knuckles rapping on her door frame and turned to see McCoy, dressed casually in a jeans and sweater, regarding her with a thunderous scowl. "Didn't I send you home?"

"You told me to take two days and I did," Regan said.

"What are you working on there?" he asked sharply. Regan was glad she could give an honest answer that wasn't 'the Walters case'.

" Serena Southerlyn's complaint," Regan said.

McCoy came into the room and looked over her shoulder. "Find anything?"

"Not so far," Regan said. "Which is good, because they're going to pull the patrols off her pretty soon."

"All right," McCoy said, his voice gentler. "Keep me posted on that, will you?"

"Sure," Regan said. McCoy turned to leave, and Regan bit her lip. " Jack? Can I ask – about Mary?" He swung around, and Regan hastened to add: "I'm not meddling. Just - how is she doing?"

"No change." McCoy said. He looked at her a moment longer. "How are  _you_  doing?" he asked. "Any sign of Walters?"

"No. And if I do see him, I'll call a policeman – probably one of the ones five feet away." Regan leaned back in her chair. "What brings you to the office on a Saturday?"

"I'm here most Saturdays," McCoy said.

"And how are  _you_  doing?" Regan asked.

McCoy looked at her, looked away, tapped his fingers on the doorframe. "The police can't bring me a case I can prosecute," he said at last, biting the words off brusquely. "Yesterday I asked an old friend at the USDJ to start legally unjustified federal surveillance on one of  _our_ suspects because  _I_ couldn't keep him in custody. Mary Firienze is still in a coma. That's how I'm doing." He bowed his head and studied the carpet for a moment. "Anything else you want to know?"

"Yeah," Regan said, taking her courage in both hands. "When are you going to let me off the bench?"

McCoy looked up sharply. "Off the bench?" He raised his eyebrows, mouth quirking in a wry smile. "You're not so good at backing down, are you?"

"Sorry," Regan said, looking down at the papers on her desk.

"Don't apologise," McCoy said. "And don't be sorry, either. Monday soon enough for you?"

Surprised, Regan looked up and realised he was serious. She nodded. "Yes. Thank you."

"Then get out of here. Enjoy your weekend." McCoy turned away and started down the hall.

Regan rolled her chair back from the desk so she could see through the doorway and watched him go, his broad shoulders slumped a little with weariness, head bowed.

_Enjoy my weekend_ , she thought.  _Like you will be?_

Regan gathered her papers together and put them in her briefcase rather than back in the file box beneath her desk. McCoy wanted her to go home?  _Fine._


	12. Wine, Women, And Wiretaps

_Abbie_   _Carmichael's Townhouse_

_7.45 Saturday 28th October 2006_

* * *

 

"You're just in time," Abbie said. "I was  _seconds_ away from sending out the search party."

"That would be more convincing if Tom had his coat on," McCoy said, handing over the bottle of wine he'd brought. "Or  _shoes_ , for that matter."

"I'm no match for you pair of keen investigators," Tom Cassidy said, clapping McCoy on the shoulder. "I was painting upstairs, I only got finished twenty minutes ago. You and I were nearly  _both_  in the dog-house. Can I get you a drink? Scotch straight, right?"

"Thanks," McCoy said. He hung his coat on the rack and followed Tom into the living room. "You're redecorating?"

Abbie and Tom exchanged a look McCoy couldn't read. "Refreshing the spare bedroom," Abbie said. " Tom's trying to get it done before he ships out."

"I'm behind schedule, though," Tom admitted cheerfully. "It turns out interior decorating isn't my strong suit."

"There's a surprise," McCoy said, accepting the drink Tom gave him.

To McCoy's surprise – and relief – Abbie didn't seem inclined to get on his back over the Firienze case or anything else over dinner. She served roast beef and followed it with vanilla pudding and didn't raise anything more disruptive of digestion than possible candidates for the Brooklyn DA's seat in the upcoming election.

It wasn't until she had poured him a brandy and Tom was in the kitchen washing up that she went on the attack.

"You look pretty tired, Jack," she said. "Branch leaning on you too hard?"

"You're learning subtlety at the Southern District," McCoy said, raising his glass in a mock toast.

"Yes, and guile – you're about four drinks up on me. But regardless of my subtlety and guile, the truth remains – you look tired." Abbie reached over the table to take his hand. "Is it the Firienze case?"

"That's certainly enough." Abbie was right – he  _was_  tired. Tired and a little drunk, and the thought of Mary took him by surprise, grabbed him and shook him with  _smooth blonde hair shaved back to show sutures, a face swollen and black with bruises –_ with  _dark hair and tape and the trunk of a car_  – with  _red hair and green carpet and blood_  –

" Jack!" Abbie said, hand closing hard on his.

"Sorry," McCoy said. He set his glass down. "I think I'd better have some coffee. What were you saying?"

"Sure,  _coffee_ , because what you really need right now is insomnia." Abbie looked at him intently. "I'm worried about you, Jack."

"Oh, nonsense, Abs," McCoy said, covering her hand with his own. "You don't need to worry about an old dog like me."

"I've hardly seen you this year. You're working harder than ever. When I see your name in the law reports there's always someone different in your second chair. You're too thin, and you look exhausted. And now Mary Firienze."

_And now Mary_   _Firienze._

McCoy shook his head. "I have to get this guy, Abbie," he said softly. " Mary was doing her job, the job we hired her to do, and because of that she's in the hospital beaten  _unrecognisable_."

"The job you hired her to do?" Abbie asked. " Jack, you can't feel  _responsible_  for this."

"I'm not responsible for what Edward Walters does or doesn't choose to do," McCoy said sharply. "But I  _am_  responsible for the outcomes of decisions of the DA's Office. We give these cases to these young girls, Abbie, girls like Mary, and we send them into the courtroom to go face-to-face with the Edward Walters, the Volskys of this world. And what happens?"

"First of all," Abbie said, "they're not 'young girls'. They're  _lawyers_."

"Don't get politically correct on me now, Abbie, not at this late date," McCoy said.

"Secondly, the nature of the job we do is that it brings us into contact with some of the worst people in our world. That's what we sign up for. You've been there. Hell,  _I've_ been there. I've got a file of death threats thicker than my thumb since I moved federal. It's a sign we're doing our jobs." Abbie sighed. "What do you want, do you want your prosecutors to back off when they discover that the people doing  _really bad things_  are actually  _really bad people_?"

"It's all very well for you to say that it comes with the territory," McCoy snapped. "Do you remember what you said about Matt Bergstrom? That he looked at you like you were meat hanging on a hook?"

"And he's in jail and he's staying there because he forgot that I'm  _a lawyer_ , not a carcass," Abbie said. " _You_  taught me that, Jack.  _You_  told me to keep it separate."

"You can't deny there's an added risk for you that there isn't for me," McCoy said. "And when I ask lawyers  _like you_ , women  _like you_ , to take on those risks, I should do my best to make sure you're protected from them."

"You can't protect people, Jack," Abbie said. "Not from the work they choose to do. Not from life."

"Then why do we even bother doing this job?" McCoy asked her. "What's the point of it? The longer I do it, the less I seem to achieve. The criminal justice system is supposed to protect the public – I can't even protect the people around me!"

"What about justice?" Abbie asked.

"What about it? Is there even any possibility of justice for Mary?"

"You have to believe there is, Jack," Abbie said.

"It's all bullshit," McCoy said. "We lock one guy up, there's ten more in his place. No matter how well or how long we do this job, there's always another murderer, a thief, a mobster, a madman. And it's not like closing the cell door and throwing away the key raises the dead and sends them back to their families."

"It never  _did_ , Jack," Abbie said. "We do what we can do. We're prosecutors. We prosecute."

"That's it?" McCoy asked.

"I've never heard you talk like this, Jack. That's it, yeah – and it's enough."

"Is it?" McCoy gave Abbie's hand a final squeeze and let her go. "It's late, Abs. I'd better go."

"It's not that late," Abbie said.

"Yeah it is," McCoy said. "It really is."


	13. Witnesses

_Squad room_

_SVU_

_16th Precinct._

_4 pm_   _Sunday 29th October 2006_

* * *

 

"Witness statements," Elliot said, thumbing through them like a card sharp getting ready to deal. "Who wants what?"

"Give me the old ladies," Munch said. "Bad eyesight, predictably annoying, but surprisingly observant."

"Here. You. Go." Elliot said, handing over a wad of paper. "Liv?"

"The rest of the residents," Olivia said, resting her head on her hands. Elliot put the papers in front of her. "Oh, goody."

"Man, what's the point of this?" Finn said. "We've been through and through the statements. Three solid days of canvassing the neighbourhood. Nobody saw nothing."

Munch lifted his head. "Nobody saw  _any_  – "

"Shut up, John," Olivia and Elliot chorused.

"Anyway," Elliot went on, "I don't believe that. I don't believe that not one single person saw Mary Firienze come home, saw Walters go into that building, saw either of them on the street. It might be someone who doesn't know what they were seeing, it might be someone we haven't talked to yet, but there has to be someone. She bought her groceries a little after 6.30. The street was full of people. She can't have just  _disappeared_."

"Okay," Finn said. "Then give me the bodega customers."

Elliot handed them over. "Remember, we're concentrating on the time when Mary got home," he reminded them all.

"Can I help?" Casey Novak asked from the door. "Hey, guys. Got any scut work for me?"

"We never say no to scut work volunteers," Olivia said. "You can have half my residents. And don't say I never give you anything."

"Oh, don't say  _that_ ," Casey said, taking the proffered files and pulling a spare chair up to the end of Olivia's desk. "I hate that damn expression. My first real boyfriend used to say that all the time."

"And  _did_  he ever give you anything?" Munch asked, looking over the top of his glasses at her.

"Pubic lice," Casey said succinctly.

"Is that why you became a sex crimes prosecutor?"

"To charge him with poor sexual hygiene in the first degree? I wish. Write your congressman. Elliot, what's the time-frame we're looking at?"

"Six-thirty to seven thirty," Elliot said.

"This couple might have seen something," Casey said. "Single mother on the second floor was looking out the window and she saw a man and a woman, man with dark hair and tan coat, woman with a blue hat and sunglasses, coming in – she says between six-thirty and six-fifty."

"How does she know the time?" Finn asked.

"Her son was watching the Wiggles and that's when the program was on. It's, quote, the only time she gets to herself all day." Casey ruffled through her files. "Couples, couples, couples with tan hats and blue coats."

"Didn't you say – " Munch asked.

"Blue hats," Casey corrected herself. "Blue hats, tan coats."

"Okay, every body keep an eye out for the blue-hat-tan-coat couple," Elliot said.

Several hours later, they had one more sighting of the couple, but no more witnesses to Mary's arrival home or Edward Walters following her. However, none of the witness statements were from a couple who arrived home at the right time.

"We've knocked on every door," Olivia said. 'They aren't residents of the building."

"Visiting," Elliot said. "Maybe – dinner guests?"

"Oh brother," Munch said. "Are we sure all the cops doing the canvass asked about any non-residents there that night?"

"No," Olivia said, running her fingers through her hair. "Not sure enough. Dammit!"

Elliot picked up his coat. "All right, everybody. I'll see if I can raise a few more volunteers. Back to East 22nd."

"Can I get a lift?" Casey asked Olivia.

"You want to come? Sure." Olivia said. " Elliot, I'll pull the car around while you make those calls."

Already on the phone, he waved acknowledgement.

In the elevator on the way down, Olivia studied Casey. "Did you do something to your hair?"

"No," Casey said, and tucked a strand behind her ear.

"New shirt?"

"No," Casey said.

"You look different," Olivia said.

"Dunno why," Casey said, and Olivia was almost sure the red-head blushed.

They reached the ground floor and Olivia let Casey lead the way across the foyer. Casey seemed to have an extra bounce in her step today.

_New man,_  Olivia decided. Well, there would definitely be an interrogation later tonight – whether or not they found the mystery couple with the tan coat and the blue hat.


	14. Gagged

_GHOST, n. The outward and visible sign of an inward fear._

_Ambrose_   _Bierce, "Devil's dictionary"_

* * *

 

_10th Floor_

_One Hogan Place_

_9 pm_   _Monday 30th October 2006_

* * *

 

"Have you got the Crim Term Report for ninety-eight?" McCoy asked.

Regan held up a finger in the standardised police manual traffic control signal for 'hang on a sec' and kept writing to the end of her paragraph, then looked up to see McCoy lounging in the doorway of her office, tieless and in jeans with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up.

"Which volume?" she asked.

"Three." McCoy said.

"No."

"How about aught-two? Volume one?"

"That one, let me see … here." She held it out and McCoy leaned into the room to take it, his fingers brushing hers.

"What are you working on?" he asked.

"Briscoe and Green caught a hit and run call during the peak hour. They got the driver and I'd like to get her arraigned first thing tomorrow but I had trouble getting her criminal history."

"Where are your cops?" McCoy asked. "They didn't pull the detail, did they?"

"No, I got two in the bag from the one-four. I sent them to get something to eat – swore I wouldn't move from this chair until they got back with my beef pho." Regan said. "But listen, you should know – they're pulling the patrols from Serena's house tomorrow. Tonight's the last night."

"Did you find anything in those files?" McCoy asked.

"A couple of things I'd like to ask Otis Langdon about," Regan said. "Or Conroy."

"No," McCoy said sharply. "Don't go near them. If you have anything you need them to clear up, ask Briscoe or Green to go."

"Okay," Regan said. " Jack – hear anything about Mary?"

"The police are chasing a new lead – two possible witnesses. No change at the hospital." He turned to go, turned back. "Don't leave without your cops."

"No," Regan said. She hesitated as he turned away, opening the law report. " Jack," she said at last, and when he turned: "You'll let me know? About Mary? If she wakes up or – or?"

McCoy nodded tiredly and ran his hand through his hair. "I will," he said. "If she – if anything changes."

Forty minutes later, with both her soup and her complaint finished, Regan pulled her file box out from under her desk to find a new pen for her briefcase. Battered as it was, the side gave way when she lifted it to put it back.

Sighing, she collected her police protection, traipsed down to the storage closet and snaffled a roll of duct tape.

"Why don't you put everything in the drawers?" one of the cops asked her.

"I'm only here temporarily," Regan told him. "Listen, I'll be done in a few minutes. I'll meet you in the lobby, okay?"

"I'll wait by the elevator, ma'am," the cop said. "If it's all the same. Lieutenant Van Buren would rip my captain a new asshole if anything happened to you on our watch. And he'd pass on the favour."

"I'll see you at the elevator," Regan said with a smile, and started pulling off strips of duct tape to repair her file box.

The second piece she pulled off twisted around itself and stuck to her hand and then to the piece she'd already ripped off. Regan cursed, held the end in her teeth and tried to separate and salvage the tape. One end stuck to her hair.

"Regan, have you got – "

She looked up to see McCoy in her doorway, staring at her.  _No, staring **through** me_. He stood like a statue, colour draining from his face, muscles bunching in his jaw.

Regan thought he might be going to faint. She made 'just a second' noises, fighting with the tape. McCoy stood frozen, sweat beading on his forehead, clutching the doorframe so hard his knuckles were white and the tendons stood out like wires on the back of his hand.

Regan ripped the tape from her hair and face and dropped it in the wastepaper bin. " Jack?" she said, taking a step closer to him. His breathing was ragged, and Regan could see the pulse pounding in his neck. Regan crossed the rest of the distance between them and put her hand on his arm. It was rigid as iron. " Jack? Are you okay?"

"I was looking for the witness statements from Wharfendon," he said so quietly his voice was almost a whisper.

"Yeah, I got them," Regan said. "Sit for a minute, Jack. Sit here." She pulled him towards her visitor's chair but he resisted.

"Just get me the statements," he said distantly, still barely audible, gaze still fixed on something Regan couldn't see.

"Okay," Regan said, reaching for the file. McCoy took it, and she saw his hands were shaking. " Jack, you okay?"

"I'm fine, Alex," he said. "I'm perfectly fine." He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Regan staring after him in consternation.


	15. Three Bad Men

_Squad room_

_2-7 Precinct_

_Tuesday 31st October 2006_

* * *

 

"Hey, Ed, wake up!" Anita Van Buren cuffed Green's shoulder as she passed his desk. He started and opened his eyes.

"Sorry, LT," he said.

"This protection detail too much for you?" Van Buren asked.

"I'm okay," Green said, and yawned.

Van Buren looked from him to Briscoe and back. "Come on in my office," she said. "Both of you."

When the two detectives were sitting in front of her and her office door was closed, Van Buren folded her arms and leaned back in her chair. "Now listen," she said. "Normally I would be reading you a version of the riot act right about now. Volunteering for extra duty and overtime is all very well if it doesn't interfere with the job you're actually supposed to be doing – but look at the two of you. Eyes hanging out of your  _heads_ , you're so tired. How many nights in a row have you been sitting outside Regan Markham's building?"

"Four," Briscoe said.

Van Buren shook her head. "I don't want you to take this as some kind of licence for the future," she said. "But this is family. And because this is family, I am all right with you putting it first. I'm taking you out of rotation. Both of you sack out in the crib for a couple of hours, then catch up on your paperwork."

"Lieu," Briscoe said, "Maybe we could spend some time working the Firenze case. They could use extra – "

"No." Anita Van Buren's voice was warm, but inflexible. "No way. This case – you don't need it in your head. You didn't catch it, you're not assigned it, you're not volunteering to it."

"Jack McCoy's claimed the case in the DAs Office," Green pointed out.

"And if I was in charge of what Jack McCoy does, he wouldn't be working it either. But I'm not. I'm just in charge of you. And Lennie – I  _am_  in charge of you." She took a file from her desk. "I have something else you can do this afternoon. I have a request from Jack McCoy via Regan Markham to check out a couple of Serena Southerlyn's complaints. Apparently Markham has gone through all the incidents at her house, all the letters, the calls, and matched them against Conroy and Langdon's confessions. She has two she can't match – paint on Serena's car, and animal blood on her front steps. After the two of you sack out for a couple of hours, go on up to Sing Sing and talk to both of them. They pulled the patrols off Serena's house last night, and I'd guess Jack McCoy is especially motivated to make sure she's safe right now."

"Okay, Lieu," Briscoe said, taking the file.

A couple of hours sleep in the crib – augmented by a nap while Green drove – left Briscoe feeling a lot better. What didn't feel so good, though, was the lack of information they got from either Conroy or Langdon. Both men denied anything to do with the vandalism at Serena's house.

"Question is, do we believe them?" Briscoe asked, getting behind the wheel for the drive back to the city.

"It really isn't Langdon's style," Green asked. "He's too lazy. And Conroy has an alibi for the second incident."

"Yeah –  _jail_." Briscoe said.

Green shrugged, and then cranked the passenger seat back and closed his eyes. "Looks like we got a third wrong guy out there."

"Perfect," Briscoe said. "Just fucking perfect."


	16. Best Intelligence

_16th Precinct._

_Tuesday 31st October 2006_

* * *

 

Abbie Carmichael wasn't sure whether to be pleased or alarmed at how familiar the 16th precinct felt, at how instinctively she turned left, right, through the doors into the squad room. Since taking the position at Southern District, Abbie had been as careful in avoiding the places she had frequented as a Manhattan ADA as she had been scrupulous in maintaining contact with the people she had cared about. It was disconcerting to realise that years of absence could be erased as easily as opening a door.

"Abbie!" Olivia Benson exclaimed, and Abbie brought her attention back to the present. "How are you?"

"I'm great, Olivia," Abbie said. "And you look fantastic."

"Thank you," Olivia said. "What brings you down here? I haven't seen you since – what, Erica Alden's hen's night?"

"Sounds right," Abbie said. "And can I say –  _never_  doing that again."

"I hear you," Olivia said, laughing. "You cried off after the third round of daiquiris, didn't you?"

"Oh, no, I didn't have that much sense. I was still there when Erica got up on the bar and started lip-syncing 'Like a Virgin'," Abbie said. "With hand gestures. Some I'd never seen before. And after that many cocktails, I'm amazed Mary was the only one who got up there to join her."

"I had to hold Casey back," Olivia said confidingly. "She knows she still owes me."

Abbie chuckled, and then saw in Olivia's eyes the identical realisation, held at bay for a few moments, that Mary wouldn't be getting up on any bars to sing anything any time soon – if ever. She touched Olivia's arm gently as the detective turned away, brushing at her eyes.

"Gotta get this guy, Abbie," Olivia said.

"I know," Abbie said, thinking of what she carried in her briefcase with a trickle of apprehension.  _Gotta get this guy. Yeah, but which guy?_

They went through the doors to the SVU squad room together and Captain Cragen saw them and waved, coming out of his office. Abbie saw Jack McCoy behind him.

"Thanks for coming down here, counsellor," Cragen said. "You're doing us a huge favour, and I'm sorry to inconvenience you, but it's easier for us to have these kind of meetings at  _our_ house."

"No problem," Abbie said. "I'm afraid what I've got isn't anything you'll like."

"Hang on," Cragen said, then turned away and raised his voice. "Gather round, people, and pay attention."

When the other detectives in the squad had come closer, Abbie put her briefcase down on the nearest desk and snapped it open.

"I've got the tapes from his land-line and his mobile," Abbie said, taking them out, "plus the wire we're running inside his crib." She put them on the desk. "Nothing there that's of any use. He knows you're looking at him, he knows what for, he thinks it's  _hilarious_."

"Because he thinks we won't be able to make the case?" Elliot Stabler asked.

"You can listen to the tapes yourself and make your own assessment, detective," Abbie said, "but in my opinion it's because he didn't  _do it_."

"What!" Jack McCoy's voice rose above the general outcry. Abbie raised her hands for quiet and waited until they were listening again. As she waited she saw Casey Novak come into the room and stand near the back, out of McCoy's line of sight.

"I know you want to make him for this," Abbie said, "and I understand why you've made him your primary suspect. But he never once said anything to anyone on any of these tapes that sound s like he did it. Annie Levy, yes. But Mary Firienze…"

"The MO is consistent, counsellor," Cragen said. "There's a pattern of behaviour in victim selection – "

"I know, I know," Abbie said. "And you can all listen to the tapes and you might hear something different. But I'm telling you what I heard. Walters boasted to one of his pals about harassing Markham and Firienze in the courthouse. He thinks he's a tough guy for scaring them and he thinks it's a great joke that you're looking at him for the assault. He doesn't think it's so funny that you're looking at him for Levy. He's worried you'll find something."

"This doesn't make sense," Olivia said. "Like the captain said, the MO – it's not just consistent. It's  _identical_. These kind of serial sexual offenders have signature patterns. They identify the offenders."

"That's not necessary true," a slightly built Asian man volunteered. "Dr. George Huang, Ms Carmichael, I'm an FBI agent and the resident psychiatrist for SVU. What Olivia says is generally true, but sexual predators often evolve over time."

"Over two weeks?" Olivia said.

"Unlikely," Huang conceded. "What I mean is, some variation between two crimes isn't enough to rule out a suspect. But  _no_ variation is enough to rule one  _in_. In this case, there's no significant variation. The blitz attack, the broken leg, the tape, the hands behind the back, the blows to the head, the pattern of the sexual assault and torture - in fact what I find most striking about this is the statistical improbability of two separate predators using identical MOs in the same city at the same time and being completely unconnected. Aside from the different locations, they're  _identical_. What you're suggesting, Ms Carmichael, would be a first."

Abbie shrugged. Years of practice at appearing in complete control no matter  _what_  happened in a courtroom or a case conference enabled her to keep her voice steady, while a part of her was reeling back from  _hands behind the back, blows to the head, sexual assault_  contrasted with the memory of Mary Firienze loudly ordering  _Apple martinis all round and turn up the music, please!_ "I'm not running this investigation," she said. "I'm just helping out. But if I  _was_  running the investigation, I'd look a little less closely at Walters and start finding another suspect."

"Thank you, Ms Carmichael," McCoy said sharply. "We appreciate your help, but you are quite correct – you  _aren't_  running this investigation."

"Neither are you," Stabler muttered. McCoy didn't seem to hear, for which mercy Abbie was profoundly grateful. She really didn't feel up to refereeing a testosterone soaked argument tonight.

She settled for glaring at McCoy. "I'll keep the surveillance going," she said. "And I'll let you know if anything pops. But it's getting hard to justify it to my guys."

"Understood, counsellor," Cragen said. "We really are  _very_ grateful for your help."

"I want to get this guy as much as anyone, Captain," Abbie said. "I'll do what I can. Casey, I need to talk to you. Walk me out?"

McCoy turned sharply, clearly only just realising Casey Novak was in the room. Casey lifted her hands in a gesture of surrender. "Relax, Mr McCoy," she said, "I'm here to talk to Munch about his grand jury testimony tomorrow."

Abbie noted that McCoy at least had the grace to look abashed. Abbie picked up her briefcase and walked to the door, deliberately passing close enough to McCoy to put her hand on his shoulder. "Call me," she said.

Neither she nor Casey broke the silence until they were in the elevator with the doors closed. Then Casey turned to her. "You used to work with Jack McCoy all the time, right?"

"For a few years," Abbie said.

"What the fuck is wrong with him, do you know?" Casey burst out.

"You noticed too, huh?" Abbie said.

"You don't have to be perceptive," Casey said dryly. "I'm pretty sure everybody in the squad has noticed some way or another."

"This case … it's getting to him," Abbie said.

When she didn't go on, Casey frowned. "That's it? That's what you've got? The case is getting to him."

The elevator door opened and they headed for the exit, dodging people waiting at the front desk. Abbie waited until they were at the doors and past the hubbub. "I can guess Jack McCoy's making your life difficult right now." she said. "But he's a good man, Casey. Don't be too hard on him."

"I don't think he's the best person to prosecute this case," Casey said, clearly being very careful with her choice of words. "I don't think it's in the interest of the People for him to prosecute this case."

"It's what I wanted to talk to you about," Abbie said. "Watch his back for me, will you?"

"Watch his back?" Casey asked.

"He might not be making the best decisions," Abbie said. "I'd hate to see the case go down the toilet because of it. And I'd hate to see that kind of result hung around Jack's neck like an albatross for god knows how long."

"You're asking me to save the case from Jack McCoy," Casey said, frowning. "Or save Jack McCoy from himself. Or both."

"Yeah," Abbie said.

"And you have to realise I'm going to need to fight McCoy to do it," Casey said.

"I know what I'm asking," Abbie said. "Casey, he's a  _good man_. I'm doing what I can.  _Please_."

They pushed through the doors onto the street. Casey folded her arms and hunched her shoulders against the cold wind swirling around them. "And have you got any suggestions about how I do this and keep my job at the same time?"

"The only advice I would give you, Casey," Abbie said, "is that with Jack McCoy, it's always better to beg forgiveness than ask permission."


	17. Past

_Broadway Breslin  
1186 Broadway_

_2.05 am Wednesday 1st November 2006_

* * *

 

_Gun heavy … voices screaming –_

Regan woke gasping for air. She scrambled out of bed, the movement clearing the last traces of sleep away, and stood for a moment in the dark. The clock radio's luminous numbers told her it was just past 2 am. The rest of the night stretched before her – dark, silent, wakeful.

_Fuck it_.

She switched on the light and started getting dressed. Jeans, work-boots, T-shirt, shirt and sweater. Coat, hat, gloves.

As she took her gloves off the dresser a glint of light on metal caught her eye. Jack McCoy's lost cufflink lay against the chipboard.  _Probably the most expensive thing in the apartment_ , Regan thought, looking at it. She brushed it with one finger, remembering McCoy's face as the link slipped from his grasp, then remembering his face on Monday night, blank, distant, as he called her by a dead woman's name.

_I should give this back to him_ , Regan thought. She had carried it to work all week, planning to put it back in his desk, but something stopped her. When she took it from the pocket of her jacket the cold metal took her back to the moment the world had skewed sideways for them all. Holding it in her hand gave her a strange sense of solidarity with Mary Firienze, as if making herself think about what Mary had been through somehow let her share, let her lessen, Mary's pain. And thinking of that moment when McCoy's fingers had stopped, had fumbled, when Regan had seen on his face the blank horror she had seen as a cop so many times – it reminded her sharply that he was a man, as well as her boss, a man carrying a burden he might strive to ignore but that weighed him down nonetheless.

She left the cufflink on her dresser and went to the door. She hesitated there for a moment.  _This is really stupid, Regan_. As always, wiser second thoughts came to her in an old man's voice, crackling with age.  _You want to play the hero? You don't even carry a gun to take care of yourself. Didn't I teach you better sense? Didn't I teach you the way the world works?_

"Shut up, Gran-Da," Regan said aloud, checked she had her keys and her wallet and her ADA's badge, and went out.

She spotted the unmarked car right away, and jogged over to knock on the driver-side window.

"Open up, Lennie," she said. "It's cold out here."

Briscoe, startled, reached back to unlock the back door and Regan slid into the back seat and shut the door behind her. "You're an early riser, counsellor," Briscoe said.

"I'm looking for the worm," Regan said. " Ed, how you doing?"

"I'd be better with coffee," Green said, and Briscoe nodded agreement.

"Let's get some," Regan said. "My shout."

As Regan had anticipated, Briscoe didn't need asking twice. "Where you want to go?" he asked , turning over the ignition.

"How about Soho?" Regan said.

" Soho?" Green said. "Maybe somewhere near Serena Southerlyn's place?"

"Maybe," Regan said. "Which brings me to the question – what did you guys find out at Sing Sing?"

"Nothing to make our hearts, shall we say, sing-sing," Briscoe said.

"No confession?"

"One alibi, one convincing denial," Green said.

"So there's maybe another creep out there?" Regan said.

"How convenient we happen to be driving down Serena Southerlyn's street," Briscoe said. "And look, there's a convenient parking space. And across the road, a convenient bodega selling coffee." He pulled up and killed the motor. "And how convenient that Detective Green happens to be leaping out of the car and going into the bodega to – "

"Yeah, yeah," Green said. "I get the message."

Regan reached a ten dollar bill forward and Green took it and got out of the car, jogging over to the bodega, his breath steaming in the cold.

Briscoe and Regan waited for him in silence for a minute. Then Regan edged forward leaned on the back of Green's seat.

"Hey Lennie," she said, "you said that day we went out to Langdon's house that you've known Jack McCoy since he became EADA," Markham said.

"Yeah." Briscoe said. Regan could hear the wariness in his tone.

"And you said this case, the Firienze case, was pushing his buttons," Regan pressed.

"Bound to be," Briscoe said. "It's pushing everyone's buttons."

"Yeah," Regan said. She looked out at the street for a minute. "I'm worried about him, Lennie."

"Oh really?" Briscoe said. "Why?"

Green yanked open the front passenger side door and scrambled in with the coffee. "It's damn cold out there," he said. "Here you go, Lennie. Ms Markham."

"Thanks," Briscoe said.

Regan took the coffee Green gave her and sipped it, waiting until Green and Briscoe were settled, then persisted: "Yeah, I'm worried about him."

"Who?" Green asked.

"She's worried about McCoy," Briscoe said. "With the case."

"No wonder," Green said. "You think this guy is gonna show?"

"He'll only know the coast is clear if he's been watching her," Briscoe said.

"I don't even know if this guy  _exists_ ," Regan said. "But since you guys are sitting in a car all night, might as well be here. Why 'no wonder', Ed? I'm beginning to get the feeling that there's something I don't know and nobody is telling me."

Briscoe sighed. "This is probably rattling a lot of cages for Jack. It's only been what, six months? since Alex. I can't imagine what's going through his head. Well, I can imagine – that's the problem."

"I think I'm missing something, Lennie," Regan said. " Alex Borgia? Were she and Jack close? I mean, I know she worked with him a lot …"

Briscoe snorted. "Jack's  _close_  to all his assistants," he said.

"' Cept Serena," Green pointed out.

"I'm not taking that bet," Briscoe said.

"Oh, man, really? And here's me holding off out of good manners all those years!" Green said. "Damn it!"

"Hey, I dunno for sure," Briscoe said. "I just think I might have sensed a certain something once or twice."

Regan raised her eyebrows. "Okaaay," she said slowly, thinking that Sally Bell's remarks to her during the Nettle case, and Anita Van Buren's comments during the Forrest case, suddenly made more sense.  _Usually he likes them younger,_  Sally Bell had said, and Van Buren had warned her  _Be careful_. It almost made her laugh, the idea that she might be in danger of falling victim to a boss with an eye for young pretty employees.  _Usually, he likes them younger._ "So they were … _close_." she said. "And after the car accident, what, he didn't cope? Is that the story?"

"Accident? You have her confused with Claire," Briscoe said.

"Who?" Regan asked. "No, Alex was killed in a car crash, right? I heard someone say so."

" Alex was killed in a car," Briscoe said heavily. "It was no accident. She was working a case. These guys broke into her apartment and snatched her."

"Oh no," Regan said, not knowing the specifics of what was coming but knowing, nonetheless, that it  _was_  coming, knowing there was no way this story was going to end short of chilling horror. "Oh, Lennie."

"They beat her, they dumped her in the trunk of a car and they dumped the car. They gagged her with duct tape and they left her there to suffocate."

"Oh, no, oh god," Regan said, trying not to imagine what it would be like but unable to turn her mind away from it, the darkness inside the car trunk, the tape, the struggle to breathe, the panic. "How godawful. What a godawful thing."

She knew what it was like to fight for breath , knowing that the fight was in vain.  _Darkness at the edge of sight, deafening thunder of blood,_   _dying cells screaming for oxygen, and the weight, the weight –_

Regan's nightmare came with gunfire.  _Alex_   _Borgia didn't survive for it to become a nightmare_.

" Jack – he shouldn't have been there," Briscoe said. "Not at the scene, not when we found her. But he insisted. I don't think I'll ever forget that – how she looked, poor little thing – and I've seen a lot of things." Briscoe said. "It's not something Jack should have seen. I won't forget how  _he_  looked anytime soon either. "

"He nailed those fuckers to the  _wall_ ," Green said, turning in his seat and jabbing his finger in the air to make his point, "Right to the wall. Nearly got disbarred. Nearly lost his job. But he  _got_  them."

"Turned up to work the next Monday like nothing had happened," Briscoe said. "Almost. Except for the gin-mill aftershave."

"Oh, fuck," Regan said. She leaned back in her seat and ran her hand over her mouth. "No wonder he's – oh, fuck. You know this son-of-a-bitch gagged Mary with tape."

"We heard," Briscoe said. "Look, the others – McCoy always seemed to just keep on going. He fell in a hole for a while after Claire, sure, but you wouldn't have known it in the courtroom. And when the Russians murdered Toni Ricci he just kept on doing the job, doing it better than ever. Put them away for life. Alex Cabot got shot – so did Danielle Melnick – Casey Novak got beat down in her office. Jack McCoy turns up to work and puts the bad guys in jail. I guess everyone thought that this time he'd be the same. "

"They wouldn't let him finish the case," Green pointed out.

"I dunno what he used to be like," Regan said, mentally reeling at Briscoe's matter-of-fact recitation, "but he's not like nothing's happened. And last night, last night, he didn't even seem to know who I was. He called me  _Alex_."

"Oh, jeez," Briscoe said.

"I think he's losing it, Lennie," Regan said tightly, her loyalty to McCoy warring with her anxiety over his behaviour. "I don't know what to do. I hear on the grapevine that Qiao Chen didn't handle the Walters arraignment very well, that's why Walters ended up ROR. I could have done better, but McCoy sent me home for even preparing a crim history on the case. I heard Casey Novak offered to second chair and McCoy turned her down. It's one thing if he isn't listening when I'm talking about felony arraignments – I can just tell him again. But these kind of decisions … don't I have a responsibility? What am I going to do, Lennie?"

"Are you asking me what you ought to do as an ADA?"

"Fuck no," Markham said. "I know that one. I should be in Branch's office at eight a.m. What should  _I_ do?"

Briscoe half turned in his seat to look at her, then shrugged. "All I know is, when your partner's in trouble, you don't throw him to the sharks – or leave him to drown."

"Hey Lennie," Green said, leaning forward. "Look at this. Look at this guy."

Regan thought at first the man Green pointed to was just one of the many passers-by. As she watched him amble along the sidewalk, though, she realised why the detective had picked this one man out of the many they'd seen.

He was moving too slowly, for one thing, for the small hours of a November night. He was looking around him more than Regan would expect from even the most nervous pedestrian.

And he was carrying a plastic bag full of something heavy and unstable, a bag that swung and wobbled as he walked.

"Here we go," Briscoe murmured. All three peered out of the windows of the car as the target of their scrutiny came closer and closer to Serena's front steps. He slowed down, stopped, looked around furtively – and reached into his bag.

"Gotcha!" Regan whispered. The man was holding what looked, in the glow from the street lights, to be a water balloon. She carefully opened the door of the unmarked and slipped out, ignoring Briscoe's quick head-shake. She darted across the road, the sound of her footfalls was hidden by the rustling plastic and the slosh and splat of the first balloon of liquid splattering over the stoop. Even in the cold, the acrid copper stink made Regan gag a little.  _Blood_.

_Hopefully animal blood_.

"Hey, fuckface!" she said as the man reached into his bag for another balloon. Startled, he turned, dropped the bag to the pavement, and heaved the balloon he held in her face.

For a second Regan was blind, suffocating on the stink of blood, and panic struck her like lightning.  _Can't see can't fight can't run_  and she opened her eyes through the blood streaming down her face, hands coming up to protect her face, hunkering away from a possible blow, her heart beating so hard her pulse nearly shook her to her knees.

The man had turned to run. Regan lunged after him, hearing car doors slamming behind her, Green shouting something that she couldn't understand through the stink of blood and  _the sound of gunfire_. Regan flung herself forward and tackled the vandal around the waist, bringing him down heavily.

He squirmed, struck out, caught her a good one to the nose. Regan flung her weight onto him, pinning him down before he could throw any more punches. She got a free hand, pulled back and pasted him good and hard.

"Bitch!" he grunted, tried to grab her hand.

Regan hit him again and then again, short jabs to the jaw. She got hold of his coat and hauled him up a little for a better angle, whacked him a right cross to the mouth and got him with her elbow on the backswing.

"Who's the bitch?" she asked, panting. She could taste rancid blood, she stank of it. It smelt like  _a room that's supposed to be safe, but he's screaming, screaming for his mama, and there's blood on the floor and some of it's hers and most of it isn't and the gun is heavy and –_ "Who's the fucking bitch, fucker?" She hit him again, then again. "Who? Who is it?" She popped him twice hard on the mouth, then hit him with a haymaker upside his head. "Who the fuck? Eh? Who?"

There were hands on her, pulling her. Regan struggled until the voice talking to her cut through the stink of blood and the  _sound of gunfire and screaming_. "Easy, easy, easy," Lennie Briscoe said, arms hooked under hers from behind, hauling her away from the man cowering on the ground. "Easy, easy, easy now, easy." Regan got her feet under her and let herself be soothed. Green was on his radio calling for a patrol car. As Briscoe walked Regan away, towards the unmarked, Serena's front door opened and flooded the blood spattered steps with light.

"I've called the cops," Serena started, standing in her doorway with a baseball bat in one hand, and then: "Lennie! What – ?"

"The good news is, we got the guy," Briscoe said.

"Hey, stay  _down_ ," Green warned in the background. "You know what's good for you,  _stay down_."

"I'm okay, Lennie, you can let me go," Regan said. He did, and she took a step away, straightening her coat, trying to wipe some of the blood off her face with her hands. Serena used a couple of words Regan wouldn't have thought she'd know. "I'm fine," Regan said, "None of this is mine."

Sirens at the end of the street heralded the backup Green had called for. "Listen," Briscoe said urgently, "he was still swinging at you when we got there, okay?"

The reality of the situation hit Regan. "Oh, shit," she said. "Yeah. Okay."

"And you chased him after he started fleeing from police who ordered him to halt, right?"

"That's right," Regan said. Her right hand had started to hurt, as did her nose, and when she took a step her right knee reminded her that she'd tackled a man to the ground on a concrete sidewalk. She looked at her knuckles and saw them split. "Lennie, how hard did I hit that guy?" she asked softly.

"Pretty hard," Briscoe said. "I think we're going to take him to the E.R. before we go back to the house."

"I want to make a complaint," Serena said promptly. "It's my property that's been vandalised, my house damaged. And I want a hate-crime enhancement. I was in fear for my life! Thank goodness you police and ADA Markham were here to protect me."

"Can you come down to the station and make a statement?" Briscoe asked.

"Absolutely," Serena said firmly. "I'll get dressed and meet you there."

"Okay," Green said down the street, " _Now_  you get up. I'm arresting you for – counsellor?"

"Criminal mischief," Serena and Regan chorused, Serena adding "Sorry. Force of habit."

"In the second degree," Regan told Green.

"I'm arresting you for criminal mischief in the second degree. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in court. You have – "

"Whatever, man," Serena's vandal said. "Just keep that crazy psycho bitch away from me!"


	18. Early Morning

_Apartment of EADA Jack_   _McCoy_

_Manhattan_

_4.30 am Wednesday 1st November 2006_

* * *

 

The phone was ringing, and Jack McCoy couldn't believe that no-one was answering it. They were all standing there looking at Alex Borgia lying on the floor of the garbage room with her mouth taped shut and the phone was ringing and ringing, which struck him as outrageously disrespectful and he opened his mouth to tell Toni Ricci to answer it but she pointed with bloody hands to the deep gash in her throat and Regan Markham just shrugged, tape across her mouth, and went on dancing in a threesome with Mary Firienze and a hulking shapeless figure McCoy knew to be Edward Walters –

Gasping, he woke. The phone was still ringing. McCoy fumbled the bedside light on and grabbed the handset.

"McCoy," he said, and had to clear his throat. "McCoy."

" Mr McCoy, I'm sorry to wake you," a young, nervous male voice said. "This is ADA Fitzgerald, I'm catching in Complaints tonight."

"What's the problem, Mr Fitzgerald?" McCoy asked, throwing back the covers and swinging his feet to the floor. The dream still clung to him and he scrubbed his free hand over his face. "Well?"

"It's not really a problem, Mr McCoy," Fitzgerald said.

"You wake me at four thirty in the morning, it's going to be a problem for somebody," McCoy said with asperity.

"Sir, Mr McCoy, I thought you should know. I've got a Ms Serena Southerlyn here making a complaint against a Mr William Perry for criminal mischief and she's demanding a hate crime enhancement, but Mr Perry also wants to swear out a complaint, and I thought you'd want to handle it."

"A complaint against who? Serena? The police?"

"No, sir, against ADA Regan Markham," Fitzgerald said.

"What?" McCoy said. " _What_?!"

"Against ADA Markham, sir. She was there when he was arrested. The police say she helped apprehend him, sir. Then they took him to the hospital."

McCoy ran his hand over his face again. "Don't do anything," he said at last. "Stall everybody. I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

He hung up the phone and started pulling on his clothes. In sixty seconds he was on his way out of the door and in a quarter hour he was walking through the doors of the Complaints Room downtown.

McCoy saw three things right away.

He saw Briscoe and Green with a cuffed convict between them. The prisoner was arguing with Briscoe and Green took hold of him and pushed him against the desk and bent him forward, one long-fingered hand dark and smooth as ebony on the pasty back of the convict's neck. "Shut  _up_ , Perry," Green said. " _Use_  your right to silence, you stupid son-of-a-bitch."

He saw Serena Southerlyn, looking glossy and polished despite the early hour and her lack of makeup. She was talking to a young man McCoy assumed was ADA Fitzgerald, and from her raised finger and from the flinching expression on Fitzgerald's face McCoy guessed Serena was getting the better of whatever argument they were having.

He saw Regan Markham, covered in blood.

The world stopped for him then.

McCoy stopped seeing anything – anything except  _familiar face framed with hair stiff with blood_ , except  _the trunk of a car and familiar face with tape over the mouth_ except  _familiar face eyes fixed open red hair vivid against blood-soaked carpet –_

Cold deeper than the darkest winter washed over him as the floor shifted beneath his feet.

_"We've found a car," Anita_   _Van Buren said._

Regan's hair was stiff with dried blood, there were streaks of blood on her face and neck.

_"Looks like Ricci caught it when she opened the door to leave," Briscoe said, as if 'caught it' could possibly capture whatever had left Toni Ricci a bloody ruin on the floor._

Her coat was deep rust red at the neck and chest, streaked and splashed on the sleeves.

_"There's really no good way to tell you this so I'm just going to say it," Don_   _Cragen said._

McCoy blinked and saw duct tape across Regan's face, as he had on Monday night, blinked again and it was gone, blinked and saw  _tape and dark hair and eyes bulging and blood_ , couldn't put a name to that face or to the one in front of him, thought  _Toni_ and managed to take a step forward and then another, his legs rubbery. His body felt distant and far away. Carefully, threading his way between the desks, he crossed the room.

_"Alexandra Cabot has been shot dead," Branch said bluntly._

He reached Serena Southerlyn and Fitzgerald. " Jack!" Serena said, and " Mr McCoy!" – rather more desperate – from Fitzgerald. He ignored them.

_"It was deep, right through the jugular and carotid," Curtis said._

McCoy reached Regan and took her by the shoulders. "What the hell happened?" he asked her, and barely recognised his own voice. "Where – what?"

_"It's Danielle_   _Jack."_

Regan's lips were moving but McCoy couldn't hear what she was saying over the voices of memory. He could smell the blood on her. It smelt like a safe-house that wasn't safe, like the trunk of a car, like a subterranean garbage room. He pulled at her coat, trying to find the wound that had bled so badly, trying to find enough breath to call for help, for an  _ambulance_.

"I'm okay, Jack," Regan said.

McCoy couldn't make her words make sense, not past the blood and  _dark hair and tape and the trunk of a car_  – with  _red hair and green carpet and blood_  – _smooth blonde hair shaved back to show sutures, a face swollen and black with bruises –_

He fought to focus.

"I'm okay, I'm okay, Jack, I'm okay," Regan was saying to him, hands flat on his chest, gaze searching his face. "Can you hear me? Jack, I'm okay. It's pigs' blood. It's not my blood. Jack?"

The steady din of voices in the Complaints Room and the sounds of the past both receded, replaced by a low buzzing. "Pigs blood?" McCoy asked her.

" Perry threw it on me. Jack are you okay?"

"Of course I am," he said, lied, the floor shifting beneath his feet, pulse roaring in his ears. Regan's face was at the end of a long dark tunnel, frowning at him, streaks of blood thick on her face. "I'm fine," he said, and couldn't remember the name to go with that bloodied face.  _Alex_   _Casey_   _Mary_   _Toni_

Regan took his arm and gestured past him. Then suddenly he was walking out of the Complaints Room, Briscoe on one side of him, Serena just ahead.  _Flick_  and he was standing over the trunk of a car  _Flick_  Green was saying something about taking someone to holding  _Flick_ in a safe house looking down at blood soaked green carpet  _Flick_ in the hall of the DAs Office with Ed Green's hand bracing him by the elbow  _Flick_ in a subterranean garbage room –

The world steadied and stilled. He was sitting in a chair in one of the conference room near Complaints. Serena was beside him, Briscoe, Green and Regan Markham a little way away near the door, pretending not to be paying attention to him.

McCoy appreciated their tact. The roaring in his ears subsided but his vision was marred with flashes of colour and trails of sparks.  _Dammit_. He didn't have time for a migraine, he had an ADA covered with blood and about to face charges and the day hadn't even started. He felt his jacket pocket and realised he didn't have his pills.  _Dammit to hell._

Serena knelt down beside him, one hand on his knee. " Jack?" she said softly. "Are you okay?"

"I need my pills," he told her, conscious of the headache starting to build behind his right eye. "In my desk."

"I'll get them – dammit, I don't have after-hours access anymore – " Serena said. "Regan. Can you go up to Jack's office and get the bottle of pills from his second drawer?"

"Sure," Regan said.

"Not alone!" McCoy ordered, and the next instant regretted his tone as the pain in his head started to peak.  _Dammit, not now._   _Not now!_  "Take Green with you," he said more softly.

"Okay," Regan said. "We'll be back in a sec."

McCoy squeezed his eyes shut, pressed the heel of his hand against his right eye. That side of his head was starting to feel like some vicious animal was clawing its way to freedom from inside his skull. He could hear Serena and Lennie Briscoe talking quietly but their words washed past him, only a few phrases catching his awareness.  _Worried – doesn't look – not surprised – do you think?_

_Shut up,_ he willed them. Every sound struck like an axe to his temple. With his eyes closed the lights spiralling and streaking across his eyelids were nauseating but when he opened his them the light from the corridor was blinding, agonising.  _Jesus, what is taking her so long?_

" Jack?" Serena said, her voice like sandpaper on exposed nerves. When he didn't answer she put her hand on his shoulder and he flinched.

"Don't touch me," he managed to say.

"Here," she said, and he opened his eyes enough to see her holding out two pills and a glass of water. McCoy forced the pills down, chased them with water, and waited for them to work.

When they did, and the pain in his head dulled enough for him to listen to and understand the subdued conversation around him, he heard Serena saying:

"He gets them sometimes, but I never saw one this bad."

"Have you got your car?" Briscoe said. "Can you take him home? We've got to stay here with Perry and – "

"Nobody is taking me home," McCoy said. "You seem to have forgotten there's a small problem in the Complaints Room I need to resolve."

"Yeah, Jack, that's my fault," Regan said.

"You know, Ms Markham," McCoy said, "It's been seeming recently that whenever the DA's Office is in imminent danger of being publicly embarrassed, there you are, saying 'So sorry, Jack'." He ran his hands over his face, scratched the stubble on his jaw. "I'm not sure I really want to know, but I have to ask – why am I in the office at five a.m. with an ADA covered in pig's blood who's the subject of a complaint by a member of the public?"

"Well, I knew they'd pulled the car off Serena," Regan said. "And Briscoe and Green couldn't clear up a couple of the incidents. And since I had this police guard… "

"You thought you'd play Nancy Drew," McCoy said. A surge of anger sent another spike of pain through his temple.  _GODdammit. After all the warnings, after all that's happened, she thinks she can waltz around the city in the middle of the night going toe-to-toe with criminals and NOTHING will happen._ "And what happened?"

"We observed a man who we now know to be William Perry vandalising Ms Southerlyn's property," Briscoe said. "We moved to apprehend him. ADA Markham, who was present during the surveillance, approached the Mr Perry and he assaulted her with a balloon filled with blood. Detective Green ordered Mr Perry to stop and identified himself as a police officer, whereupon Mr Perry attempted to flee. ADA Markham gave chase, no doubt acting instinctively, as many citizens do when seeing someone running or hearing the cry 'Stop thief' – "

"Don't editorialise, Detective," McCoy snapped.

"Well, anyway, ADA Markham pursued Mr Perry, stopped his flight, Mr Perry assaulted her, ADA Markham defended herself. Detective Green and I reached the two of them and we arrested Mr Perry and took him into police custody. Mr Perry complained that he was assaulted by ADA Markham. In order to make quite sure his claims of injury were baseless, we took him to Mercy General and had him checked out before bringing him down here."

"And what did the doctors at Mercy General find?"

"Nothing that couldn't be explained by the kind of scuffle often seen when felons resist arrest," Briscoe said.

"And was it explained by that kind of scuffle?"

Briscoe hesitated just long enough for McCoy to know he was lying when he said: "Absolutely."

McCoy turned to glare at Ed Green and Serena. "And is that what you saw?"

"Looked like it to me, counsellor," Green said, and Serena nodded.

"Have you given a statement , Ms Markham?" McCoy asked.

"Yes," she said.

"And is it consistent with Detective Briscoe's statement?"

"Yes," Regan said.

"And is it accurate and complete?"

"It's accurate," Regan said. McCoy held her gaze a long moment, giving her every opportunity to add to that, but she looked down and away and was silent.

"Detective Green, have you made a statement regarding these two complaints to ADA Fitzgerald?"

"I have," Green said.

"Then you take Ms Markham home and  _make sure she stays there_ , is that clear?"

" Jack, I – " Regan started.

"  _Ms_   _Markham, go home!"_  McCoy roared at her, frayed temper snapping at last. "Not  _on a stakeout_ , not  _to arrest a suspect_ , not  _to your office_ , but  _home_ , is that clear? I am about to go into the Complaint Room and start papers on you  _for assault_ , do you understand? Do you think the DA's Office can afford to do anything else but pursue this to the utmost extent? Do you think we can afford to look like we play favourites when it's one of our own?"

"No, sir," Regan said softly. She had gone pale beneath the splatter of blood on her face.

"You are under investigation. You will not come to One Hogan Place unless you are requested to attend. You will not work any cases. You will not approach or speak to any persons connected with any cases currently before this office. Is that  _absolutely_ clear"

"Jack…" Serena said softly. McCoy ignored her, his gaze fixed on Regan. She nodded mutely.

"I beg your pardon, Ms Markham?" McCoy said acidly.

"Yes, sir, crystal clear, sir," Regan said, voice shaking.

"I'll do my best to clear up the mess you've made," McCoy said. "But Ms Markham, I wouldn't wait by the phone."


	19. Under The Radar

_Squad room_

_SVU_

_16th Precinct._

_11 am Wednesday 1st November 2006_

* * *

 

"What you got, Liv?" Casey asked, making Olivia jump a little. "Sorry."

"I was miles away," Olivia said, closing the file she'd been pouring over. "Trying to make a case without clues. – it's like trying to make bricks without straw!" She leaned back in her chair and stretched. "We're getting closer to Walters on Annie Levy."

"You're working that? I thought you were on Mary's case?"

"Captain's idea," Olivia said. "Your friend Jack keeps finding reasons for me to ride a desk on that end of the investigation, so Cragen put me on Annie Levy and the other three rapes. Elliot's working Mary's case, and hopefully we'll meet in the middle."

Casey pulled the chair around from Munch's empty desk and sat down. "And you're making progress?"

"Losing the ID hurt us, there's no question," Olivia said. "The forensics are minimal. But the wiretaps are a goldmine. I think it's only a matter of time before he says something that's an out-and-out confession. And every time we get a better line on where he was on the day, and afterwards, we pick another hole in his alibi."

"And how's Elliot going?" Casey asked.

"Nowhere," Olivia said. "We still can't get a line on those two potential witnesses. Our best hope right now is that Mary wakes up and can ID her attacker. Walters has no alibi, but nor do we have anyone putting him at the scene. We can't find the friend Mary told Elliot she'd met up with. Elliot thinks she was blowing him off with a story."

"What do you think?" Casey asked.

"I think she had plans. Her TiVo was set to record E.R."

"On a Wednesday?" Casey said "I gotta stay in more.".

"Repeat," Olivia said. "The one where Doug Ross pulls the little boy out of the storm drain. I think it was Mary's favourite episode.""

"Because, George Clooney, dripping wet…" Casey said. "Okay, so she set the TiVo to record – she must have known she wouldn't be home before she went to work."

"And she never mentioned it to Elliot when he first talked to her," Olivia said. "Keeping it to herself. I didn't know she was seeing anyone, did you?"

"No," Casey said. "And there's been no boyfriend at the bedside at the hospital, either."

"If this 'friend' is someone none of us knew, maybe he's from out of town, or maybe someone Mary felt she had good reason to keep secret," Olivia said.

"Like a married man," Casey suggested.

"Or someone she worked with, maybe, a cop? Someone else in the DA's Office?"

" Arthur Branch," Casey suggested with a snort.

"Oh god Casey," Olivia said suddenly. "What if it's Jack McCoy?"

She was unprepared for the vehemence of Casey's response.

"Absolutely not!," Casey said . "There's no way."

"It would explain a few things about his behaviour, Casey," Olivia pointed out. "His obsessive interest in the case, the way he keeps flying off the handle with us – if he and Mary had a date, and he stood her up, and she went home alone and met Walters …. He'd have to feel  _terrible_  about it. And it wouldn't be the first ADA Jack McCoy's - well, 'been involved' with. To a greater or lesser degree."

"He would have said something," Casey said firmly. "I'm not saying your logic isn't plausible, but I  _know_  Jack McCoy. There's no way he'd hold information back from the investigation."

"Even if he felt guilty?"

"Especially if he felt guilty," Casey said. "You work with Elliot. You know men with Catholic upbringings. It wasn't Jack McCoy, Olivia, there's no way."

"So why is he all over us on this case?" Olivia asked. 'Why is he acting like such an asshole? He was in here this morning wanting an update, he looked like he was right on the edge – like he hadn't slept, hadn't eaten – he was barely holding it together."

Casey rubbed her forehead wearily. "I know, Olivia. I've never seen him like this. I don't know what to do except try to keep things on track until he pulls himself together. But whatever the hell is bothering him so much about this case, he wouldn't hold information back from the investigation. He might try to pull a fast one legally when it comes to trial, one way or another, and he's been known to keep his colleagues and the cops in the dark over those strategies – but if he knew anything about what happened to Mary, he'd tell it. No question."

"Okay,' Olivia said. "Okay, so you're right – but it still shows there's a bunch of good reasons why whoever this guys is, he, might not have picked up the phone to call us and say 'hey, I meant to go home with Mary Firienze that night but my plans changed.'"

"His plans changed?" Casey asked, looking confused.

"Well, obviously. Because Mary didn't make it home," Olivia pointed out. "He might not even know that."

"Should we do an appeal?" Casey asked. "Put something in the papers?"

"Might work," Olivia said, "if he's from New York."

"The papers all go on the net," Casey pointed out. "It might work even if he isn't from New York."

"Okay, I'll suggest it to Elliot," Olivia said. She studied Casey for a minute. "Have you thought about what Carmichael said?"

"About?" Casey asked.

"About it maybe not being Walters who hurt Mary," Olivia said.

"I thought George said it was improbable," Casey said.

"Yeah," Olivia said. "But what if he's wrong?"

"We're looking for some random psycho?" Casey said. "That's going to make this impossible!"

"We work these cases on percentages," Olivia said. "Right now we have one lead. Walters. But that lead might be a dead end. And we're putting all our eggs in that basket. Elliot – " Olivia shrugged, sighed. " Elliot thinks that if he'd insisted on taking Mary home nothing would have happened to her. It makes it kind of hard to talk to him about the case. He figures he let Walters get to her, now he has to make it right."

"What do you do if you have one lead and you're not sure it's the right one?" Casey asked.

"Scare up new leads," Olivia said. "If it isn't Walters – and it isn't a random thing, and let's assume it isn't because that would just make it impossible – then it must be something to do with Mary. Some connection. Someone targeting Mary because she was  _Mary_."

Casey bit her lip. " Walters isn't the only defendant in the history of time to target a prosecutor."

"Can you get access to her past case files?" Olivia asked.

"Of course," Casey said. "I'll get them sent up today."

"Let me know if you find anything," Olivia said.

"Likewise," Casey said, getting up. "But - I'm flying under the radar on this, Liv."

"I'll keep it quiet," Olivia said. She returned Casey's smile, feeling a little better about the case.  _We'll get him for you, Mary_ , she promised.

_Whoever **he**  is._

_We'll get him for you._


	20. Boxed In

_Office of EADA Jack_   _McCoy_

_One Hogan Place_

_4pm_   _Thursday 2nd November 2006_

* * *

 

"No true bill against Markham," ADA Fitzgerald said, with obvious relief. "They're still hearing against Perry, but I think they'll finish tomorrow."

"Good," McCoy said. "Let me know how that goes."

"Sure," Fitzgerald said. "I'll just go ring Markham and tell her she's clear to come back to work."

"No, I'll do it," McCoy said hastily.

When Fitzgerald left McCoy made no move to pick up the phone. He would see Regan Markham in a few hours anyway. Serena Southerlyn was insisting on taking them both to dinner in gratitude for the final resolution of the harassment that had been making her life a misery for months. He could tell Markham then that she was no longer in danger of facing charges for assault, of losing her job.  _Do her no harm to wait a little longer. It might make the lesson sink in a little more._

_I teach different lessons now._

_Would you let intimidation …would you …_ He could almost hear his own voice saying the words. He couldn't remember Alex's face as she listened. When he tried, he saw her at her desk with the tape wrapped around and around …  _Would you let intimidation affect the way you prosecute a crime?_

_And she learned the lesson. I can wish she never did forever, it won't change the fact. I spoke, and she listened._

_And now I know what I should have been telling her, I'll damn well make sure Regan Markham listens. Now I know what she really needs to know – not all the platitudes about the importance of the law. It only works if we make it work! Did I really like listening to my own voice that much?_

_That's not what Regan needs to learn, what Casey needs to know, or Abbie._

_Stay safe. That's what they need to learn. To **stay safe.**_

McCoy'd moved several small legal mountains over the past two days to make sure there was a no true bill outcome for Markham, as quickly as possible, while making sure the appearance of the complete impartiality of the DAs Office was maintained. Most importantly, he'd instructed Fitzgerald to start the grand jury before laying charges against Markham. That let the DAs Office point to the verdict of the citizenry if any questions were raised and also meant that Markham could continue to answer honestly that she had never been arrested or charged with any crime.

McCoy sighed, pressed his finger against his eyes.  _I should call Seattle_  he thought,  _and find out if Markham had any excessive force complaints on her jacket._

He'd seen the pictures taken at the hospital. The grand jury might have accepted Briscoe's version of events, but McCoy wasn't that naïve.

_I owe Sally dinner,_  he thought. When he'd searched his mind for the name of a lawyer who could be absolutely relied upon to use every Grand Jury trick in the book to make sure charges were never laid against her client, Sally Bell was the first and last name he'd thought of.  _And all the names in between_. And she'd taken the case, even through the Public Defenders Office and the DA's Office were traditional enemies.  _The reason she took t hat job was because it formalised the situation between us_ , McCoy thought. He rubbed his forehead. His relationship with Sally had thawed since then, but he still doubted she would consider dinner with him a sufficient reward for her efforts on behalf of Regan Markham.  _Unless she relishes the idea of me as a captive audience for brow-beating_.

He picked up the phone. " Colleen. Can you get two tickets to a Broadway show and send them to Sally Bell at the PDs Office? No, I'll pay for them personally. Well, I don't know – whatever's popular right now. Thanks."

_Done_.  _Next_.

The Walters file drew his eye. Despite knowing there would be nothing new in the file, nothing new since he'd spent half the night pouring over it, McCoy picked it up and flipped it open. The wiretap transcripts were dog-eared from the hours he'd spent trying to find something to make the case against him for Firienze. _Nothing_. There were a couple of references to Annie Levy that could  _maybe_ be stretched to a bail revocation, one to Markham that  _might_ get bail revisited on the felony stalking indictment …  _no._ It would need to be more convincing to get a judge to disregard the unorthodox way they'd got the evidence.

Slapping the folder shut, he grabbed his coat and headed for the door. Maybe the detectives at the one-six would have newer information.

In the hall he nearly ran into Qiao Chen. Chen was coming out of Alex's office with a battered cardboard file box held together with tape.

" Mr McCoy," Chen said. "I'm not sure what to do with this."

"What?" McCoy asked, trying work out what Chen was doing in Alex's office –  _no, **not**  Alex's office, not anymore, not ever again –_

"There was this box in the empty office," Chen said. "I don't know who it belongs to? It might be ADA Markham's."

"Did Colleen tell you to use that office?" McCoy asked.

"No, but I don't have an office up here on the tenth floor and I figured with Markham gone…"

McCoy took a step past him and looked in the door of the office that had once been Claire's, then Jamie's, then Abbie's, Serena's, Alex's … There was a calendar on the wall, a couple of framed photos on the desk. "You've made yourself at home," he said softly.

Chen didn't seem to pick up on McCoy's tone. "Well, I guess Markham already cleared out her desk." He hefted the cardboard box. "Should I put this out for the cleaners?"

"I'll take it," McCoy said. Chen hesitated and McCoy held out his hands. "Sometime today, Mr Chen!"

He retraced his steps to his office and set the box on the conference table. Inside he could see a half-full bottle of scotch, a box of Kleenex, paper and pens – the usual contents of desk drawers. McCoy poked at the office detritus, turning over a legal pad, moving aside the scotch bottle. He couldn't see anything in the box with personal significance – no photographs, no baseball or football tenants.

McCoy'd told Markham when they'd closed the first case they'd worked together that she could use the desk – "for the moment". He'd told everyone who'd mentioned it that Markham was only temporary.

Regan had taken him at his word. McCoy was used to more assertion from young ADAs. He couldn't imagine Abbie or Jamie keeping their post-its in a box under their desk because he wouldn't concede their tenure. Possession was, after all, nine-tenths of the law. But Regan Markham apparently had no concept of an ambit claim. She hadn't even unpacked.

_And she'd never need to unpack if these stunts she keeps pulling get her killed, either_ , McCoy thought, banishing a twinge of guilt at the way he'd kept her dangling with anger at her recklessness, at her disregard to her own safety in the face of the very real dangers female ADAs faced. He pushed the box away from him and jammed his hands into his pockets, brought back against to the Walters case, to Mary Firienze.

_To all of them._


	21. Head to Head to Head

_Squad room_

_SVU_

_16th Precinct._

_5.30pm_   _Thursday 2nd November 2006_

* * *

 

McCoy stopped in the doorway of the SVU Squad Room, watching the detectives at work. They'd set up a board at one end of the room with photos of the main players and key pieces of evidence pinned up – an organisational luxury the homicide detectives of the 2-7 would have envied.

_Briscoe and Green break plenty of cases with notebooks and file folders,_  McCoy thought, feeling an obscure loyalty to the two detectives.  _Good, old fashioned policing._ Still, he had to admit, the resources of SVU made it easier for multiple officers to work the same case.

At the moment, there were five people standing in front of the case board. Captain Cragen was talking, and Detectives Stabler and Benson were listening. John Munch was showing something to a strikingly attractive black woman McCoy recognised as one of the . And Casey Novak was standing a little aside, reading through a stack of papers.

McCoy walked up to her and took the papers out of her hand before she realised he was there.

"Summary of wiretap transcripts case four-three-nine Walters," he read off the title page. " Casey, what are you doing with these?"

"Reading them, Jack," Casey said, and took hold of the papers to pull them back. McCoy refused to let go, and after a brief tug of war she planted her fists on her hips. "You are  _such_  an adult."

McCoy tossed the papers onto the nearest desk. "I told you that you were off this case."

"You told me you were going to get Arthur Branch take me off this case and I haven't heard from Arthur."

"Goddamn it, Casey, I didn't think I needed to get you reprimanded in – "

" Mr McCoy," Cragen said. "If you and ADA Novak have professional matters to discuss, maybe you'd like to use my office."

"No need," McCoy snapped.

"I think Mr McCoy and I know exactly where we stand," Casey said, glaring at him.

"What I'd  _like_  to know," McCoy said, "is where we stand with the case against Walters."

"We have two potential witnesses," Stabler said, "but we haven't been able to locate or identify them yet."

"A man and woman seen going in to the building at around the time we know Mary arrived home," Benson added. "They haven't turned up in the canvas and nobody in the building can ID them, but we're still looking."

"Sounds like a big pile of nothing, detectives," McCoy said.

"We have some DNA results," Munch said. " Melinda tells me that there is a thirty percent match to Walters."

"Thirty percent?" McCoy said. "I can't get a conviction – I can't get an  _indictment_ on thirty percent."

"That's actually as good as you'll get with this method." Warner said. "We had very little to work with, we're trying to make a match off sweat traces and skin flakes. To give you some indication, we can tell the DNA isn't Mary's because the match to Mary is less than five percent."

"Defence will still argue that there's a seventy percent chance it's someone else – or that Walters' sweat and skin brushed off on Mary in the courtroom when he spoke to her."

"The first is possible but improbably. The second is more problematic. " Warner said. "If I come up to you like  _this_  – " She stood close to McCoy and put her hand on the back of his neck, "and lean into you  _so_ , I am probably going to leave about as much DNA on you as Walters did on Mary – if I'm a sweaty guy with dry skin."

"I need more," McCoy said. "I need more, dammit! It's been a week, Captain. What are your detectives doing?"

"Working around the clock, Mr McCoy," Cragen said. "We're watching Walters, the wiretap is still in place, if he did it, we'll get him."

" _If_  he did it – are you losing confidence in your case, Captain?" McCoy asked.

"We're pursuing  _all_  lines of inquiries," Cragen said. "As we always do until we're able to charge somebody. And that is an operational decision that  _I_  make, Mr McCoy."

"Dammit," McCoy snarled, knowing Cragen was right. He rubbed his forehead, a dull throbbing pain starting behind his left eye.

"C'mon, Jack," Casey said. "You heading home? I'll give you a lift."

"I'm going back to Hogan Place," McCoy said.

Casey shrugged. "I'll give you a lift there," she said.

McCoy hesitated, considering arguing further.  _They're going to let him get away. They're going to leave him loose out there …_ Pain stabbed through his eye.

Not much more than twenty four hours since the last migraine, and another was starting. This time last year he considered himself unlucky if he got more than one in six months.

" Jack?" Casey asked softly, her hand on his arm.

"Yeah, thanks," McCoy said, giving in.  _I'm just too tired for this today. I can't fight them all. Not today._

_Just one decent night's sleep, that's all I need. One night._

Without dreams. Without  _dark hair and duct tape – green bloody carpet and red hair – bruised face in hospital bed_  flashing in front of his eyes as he lay staring sleepless at the dark.

_One night_.

McCoy let Casey draw him towards the door, her hand in the crook of his arm. In the corridor he pulled away at the water fountain, quickly swallowed two pills and washed them down. He stood up to see Casey looking at him with concern. "Headache," he explained.

"You look exhausted, Jack," she said.

"If I spent less time trying to make sure my ADAs did as they were supposed to, I might get more sleep," McCoy retorted.

"I am doing as I'm  _supposed_  to do," Casey said. "I'm just not doing what you  _want_  me to do. There's a difference."

"We'll see if Arthur Branch thinks that," McCoy said. He thumped the call button for the elevator with a clenched fist.

"You aren't going to go to Arthur," Casey said.

"Don't be so sure!" The elevator doors opened and they got in. "I don't want you to end up with a reprimand on your file but - "

"Bullshit!" Casey interrupted. "You know Arthur would never put a permanent black mark against my name for  _doing my job_." She folded her arms and stared him down, her pugnacious air typical Casey Novak: jaw set, chin forward.  _Joelene_   _Lewis_ , McCoy sometimes called her when they were on easier terms.

He sighed and leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. "Don't fight me on this, Casey. You know it's for your own protection."

"Oh, you're going to protect me now?" Casey flared.

"Goddammit!" McCoy thumped the wall. "Will you just for goddamn once  _stop_?"

Casey stuck her jaw out further. "You should know by now I won't be bullied into anything. And you're wrong. I should be second chair on this case and I'm going to keep working it until you realise that."

"Oh really?" McCoy said, taking a step towards her.

"Oh really." Casey said firmly, not backing away.

They glared at each other for a moment until the elevator chime announced their arrival at the car park. The doors opened, and began to close again. Casey stuck out her hand to stop them, gaze still locked on McCoy's.

He looked away first.


	22. Cornered

_Office of EADA Jack_   _McCoy_

_One Hogan Place_

_7 pm_   _Thursday 2nd November 2006_

* * *

 

"Working late?"

McCoy looked up from his papers to see Emil Skoda at the door of his office. "Not for much longer," he said, checking his watch.

"Have you got a minute now?" Skoda asked.

"Of course," McCoy said. He gestured to his couch but Skoda took the visitor's chair by the desk. "What can I do for you, Emil?"

"How are you?" Skoda asked.

"I'm fine," McCoy said.

"Really?"

"Really." McCoy said firmly.

"Because you look godawful," Skoda said bluntly. "Are you sleeping?"

"From time to time," McCoy said.

"Migraines?" Skoda asked.

"From time to time."

"More frequently than in the past," Skoda said, and it wasn't a question. "When did that start?"

McCoy capped his pen and laid it carefully on the desk. "Did Arthur ask you to talk to me?"

"No," Skoda said. " Abbie Carmichael did. Among others."

"Among others? Is there some kind of general discussion group I'm missing out on?" McCoy asked, voice rising in indignation.

" George Huang called me as a professional courtesy. He wanted to let me know that a friend of mine was about two bad days away from unspooling completely."

"Is that what he said?"

"That's what  _I_  said. George said you were showing signs of stress. That's pretty strong language for George."

McCoy rubbed his forehead. "I think I might be allowed a few signs of stress, Emil! I have a full caseload including a high profile attack on a SVU prosecutor – a photogenic, media friendly SVU prosecutor."

"And you're so unfamiliar with high profile cases and media coverage," Skoda said sarcastically.

"What do you want, Emil?" McCoy asked. "Is there something I can do for you in a professional capacity, or are you just here to psychobabble at me?"

"I noticed there's someone else in your ADA's office," Skoda said. "Wasn't there a young woman there when I came by two weeks ago? A blonde?"

"She's suspended," McCoy said. "There were potentially some charges against her. Not that it's any of your business, by the way!"

"And it keeps her away from the Firienze case," Skoda said.

"What exactly did Abbie say to you?" McCoy asked.

"That she thinks you're compromising the investigation and the prosecution out of a misguided sense of chivalry."

"She's wrong," McCoy said flatly.

"I know. It's got nothing to do with chivalry."

"No. It's just common sense. This guy, this bastard Walters, picked Mary because of her job. He approached Regan Markham in the courthouse. You're right, I don't want her anywhere near this. Or Abbie. Or Casey Novak. Is that wrong?"

"Yes," Skoda said, and when McCoy raised his eyebrows Skoda spread his hands wide and shrugged. "I know, I know, the therapist isn't supposed to contradict the patient. But I'm not here in a professional capacity."

"Could've fooled me," McCoy snorted.

"Well, that doesn't mean I'm not going to kick your ass for you," Skoda said. "I'm just not going to charge you. Jack, it's easy to understand what's going on. It's a hold over from the days of feudalism, tribalism. The alpha male gets obedience in exchange for protection. You're the alpha male in this office, something that's even clearer when you're surrounded by nubile young women and exercising your  _droit de seiner_. But you can't protect them, can you? You can't fulfil your part of the bargain."

"Very insightful, Emil." McCoy snapped. He checked his watch again and pushed his chair back from his desk. "I'm about to be late, so say what you have to say."

"How many ADAs have you been through since Alex Borgia was murdered?"

_Dark hair and tape in the trunk of a car, flies buzzing in the sun and –_

"Not relevant," McCoy said. His voice sounded odd in his own ears but he hoped Skoda wouldn't notice, or notice the sudden sweat on his face. He turned away, pretending to look for papers on the computer desk behind him.

"You know you can't even be  _slightly_  associated with the DA's Office these days without hearing the gossip about what an asshole you are to work for," Skoda said.

"I'm not here to make friends, Emil." McCoy shuffled through the papers.

"But you've  _been_  friends – you're  _still_  friends – with your previous assistants. More than friends with at least some of them." Skoda folded his arms. "And now suddenly it seems almost as if you're going out of your way to be difficult. Or you've had a complete personality change. Either is a red flag."

"To who? Underemployed over-educated shrinks?" McCoy snapped.

"To the people around you who care about you, Jack," Skoda said with such unexpected gentleness that McCoy was completely disarmed. He blinked at the papers he held, trying to clear his vision. "If I  _were_ here as your therapist, not as your friend, I'd dance around this until you brought it up," Skoda went on. "But I'm acutely aware that you're not going to keep coming to see me until such time as you're ready to face this yourself. So I'm going to go for shock therapy and hope you don't take a swing at me." Skoda paused. "Protecting the women around you won't ever make up for not stoping your father hitting your mother."

The papers in McCoy's hands cascaded to the floor and he swung around to stare at Skoda. "Who told you?" he asked, trying to think past the shock.

"You did. Just now. Some lucky guess, huh? You're not the only one who makes a living working out what makes people tick." Skoda said.

"This has got  _nothing_  to do with my mother or my father," McCoy said. " _Nothing_."

"Oh, sure," Skoda said. "You haven't spent a lifetime trying to prove yourself to your father and prove you aren't  _like_ him at one and the same time."

"No, I haven't," McCoy said tightly.

"Then you're unique in New York City." Skoda looked at him. "You think you're a cipher, Jack, but you're a cliché. You hide from yourself in the office, inside a bottle, in one more woman's bed. You're the white knight for all the damsels in distress, the white knight your mother never had. You spend every day proving to your father that you're a better man that he was. But that's never going to happen, Jack, and you know why?"

"Why?" McCoy said roughly.

"Because he's  _dead_." Skoda said. "Look. There's no one size fits all way of dealing with loss. Men of our generation tend not to go for the touchy-feely support group route to closure. And self-medicating with work and alcohol has obviously worked for you in the past – or you would have fallen off the map long ago. But there's a point at which you either have to start getting past something or you have to recognise that you don't know how to."

"Nothing to get past," McCoy said. He scooped the papers up off the floor and shoved them into his bag and stood up.

Skoda didn't move. "You don't want to talk to me about it," he said. "Maybe you don't want to talk about it at all, to anybody. But you have to face the fact that you're in trouble, Jack. The people around you are noticing that you're making bad decisions. Your body is telling you that you aren't coping. Migraines – insomnia – I'm guessing nightmares – "

"Guess away," McCoy said. He grabbed his coat off the rack and pulled it on. "You can sit there talking out of your ass as long as you like, Emil, but you'll be talking to yourself. I'm due elsewhere."

Skoda stood up then, and followed McCoy to the door, and then down the corridor to the elevator, still talking. McCoy tried not to listen, running through the next day's motions  _in limine_ and whether or not Omardi in Fraud had finished the discovery motions for the Costigan trial –

Trying not to think about Anita Van Buren and the infinite compassion in her voice when she said –

_"We've found a car_."

McCoy waited with increasing impatience for the elevator as Skoda talked about trauma, talked about anxiety.  _Get in the elevator; press the button for the lobby._ He had to concentrate to do it, each movement separate and difficult. He could barely see the elevator buttons through  _blood soaked red hair and a face that had been so strong and mobile gone slack and blank forever – Don_   _Cragen's voice on the phone, "There's really no good way to tell you this so I'm just going to say it." – "We've found a car." – "It's Danielle_   _Jack," –_

McCoy made it out the front doors of One Hogan Place before the nausea overwhelmed him. He was vaguely aware of Skoda taking his bag out his hand and bracing him with a hand under his elbow as he leaned against the wall and vomited.

_"Looks like Ricci caught it when she opened the door to leave," Briscoe said, as if 'caught it' could possibly capture whatever had left Toni Ricci a bloody ruin on the floor._

Even after his stomach was empty McCoy couldn't stop retching.

_"It was deep, right through the jugular and carotid," Curtis said._

_"Alexandra Cabot has been shot dead," Branch said bluntly._

_"We've found a car," Anita_   _Van Buren said._

" Jack?" Skoda asked.

McCoy leaned against the wall for a moment before he could answer. "Bad chicken salad for lunch," he said at last.

"Sure," Skoda said. "And I'm the fucking queen of  _Sheba_."

McCoy straightened and took his bag back from Skoda. "Have a nice evening, your majesty," he said, and walked to the kerb to hail a cab.


	23. Through A Glass Darkly

_"If a man harbors any sort of fear, it percolates through all his thinking, damages his personality, makes him landlord to a ghost." - Lloyd_   _Douglas_

* * *

 

_Le Petit Chiene_

_7.40 pm Thursday 2nd November 2006_

* * *

 

When McCoy arrived at the restaurant he passed two cops in a patrol car parked just down the street.  _Regan's protection._ Inside, he could see Serena and Regan already seated. He surrendered his coat and bag to the maitre-de and made his way towards them. Serena spotted him and stood up to greet him. She was as well-dressed and well-groomed as ever in a deep green dress that whispered 'money' with white gold earrings and bracelet that screamed it.

He kissed the cheek Serena offered and gave Regan Markham a brusque nod when she started to rise to her feet as well. She'd clearly made an effort to live up to the restaurant but in contrast to Serena's elegant grooming and the restrained good taste of the décor, Markham stood out like a sore thumb.  _A sore thumb from Wal-Mart_.

"Drink?" Serena asked him, already signalling the waiter.

"Thanks," McCoy said. He took his seat across from Regan. "Grand jury's back," he told her. "No true bill."

"Oh thank Christ," she said on a rush of breath, covered her trembling lips with her fingers for a few seconds and then took a gulp of the martini by her place setting.

"That's great news!" Serena said, beaming. Regan managed a watery smile and shook her head when Serena ordered McCoy a scotch and herself another martini.

Seeing Regan's obvious relief , McCoy was reminded of the gut-twisting anxiety he'd felt waiting to know if he was going to be disbarred. He remembered Serena's external composure as she waited for the disciplinary committee's hearing and her cold, trembling hand when he'd gripped it to offer moral support, remembered Jamie's quiet words –  _I'm scared, Jack -_ before her own hearing.

 _I should have called her straight away,_  he thought with a stab of guilt,  _not left her twisting in the wind._

"It was a close call," he said, instead of  _I'm sorry._ "Maybe you'll learn from it."

"Learn what, not to help out a friend who needs it?" Serena said incredulously.

"He's right, Serena," Regan said. "I should have left it to the Ds. I should have stayed in the car."

"You shouldn't have been there at all," McCoy corrected. His scotch came and he took a solid hit of it.

"Well." Serena said. She picked up her menu. "If you haven't eaten here before, I  _highly_ recommend the duck."

"I think you can safely assume we haven't eaten here before, Serena," McCoy said. He meant it as a joke but it came out more sharply than he intended and he saw Serena's reaction, quickly covered, to his reverse snobbery. "Regan and I are mere public servants," he said, instead of  _I'm sorry._  "Our budgets run more to Kenny's diner."

"I chose this restaurant because it's so close to your apartment, Jack," Serena said with a note of reproach. "If you'd prefer Subway, you only have to say."

"It's such a treat to eat in a real New York restaurant," Regan said quickly. "It's just like I imagined it would be."

"How long have you been in New York?" Serena asked gratefully.

"Almost ten months now," Regan said.

McCoy let them talk, only half-listening. The sound of their voices, the background hum of the restaurant, the dim lighting – all combined to make him realise just how tired he was. He ordered when the waiter returned and two minutes later couldn't remember what he'd asked for.

The sommelier brought and poured the wine, and Serena proposed a toast. "To old friends and new friends," she said. "Even if it was my father's favourite toast. He got some things right."

Regan raised her own glass. "To hard liquor, fast women, and slow horses," she said.

"What?" Serena asked, laughing.

"My father used to say, 'I spent half of everything I ever earned on hard liquor, fast women and slow horses. The rest I just wasted'."

"Sentimental bullshit," McCoy said. "Romanticising the kind of addictions that destroy families."

"Sometimes the only way you can look in the mirror is with rose-coloured glasses," Regan said, voice level although a muscle jumped high in her cheek.

"That's an excuse for a lack of will power," McCoy retorted.

Regan pressed her lips together and looked away.

"You're in a fantastic mood tonight, Jack," Serena said coolly. "I can't  _believe_  your wives keep leaving you."

McCoy had to give her that one and raised his glass in mock salute. "I forgot how well I trained you," he said.

"You forget how well I  _know_  you, you mean," Serena said. "Regan, I hope Arthur Branch is giving you danger money to work with Jack."

"I'm not actually working with Jack at the moment," Regan pointed out. "I'm suspended."

"The only danger Ms Markham incurs is the direct result of her own poor judgement," McCoy said waspishly. "I hardly think the DA's Office ought to be financially liable!"

Serena lifted her glass and drank with slow deliberation. "So tell me, Regan," she said when she had set the glass down, half turning in her seat to give McCoy her shoulder, "how does New York compare to Seattle?"

The food arrived. McCoy ate mechanically, vaguely aware that it was a waste to eat such good food when all he could taste was ashes. He was vaguely aware, too, that his silent presence chilled the table, although Regan and Serena struggled gamely to keep up the appearance of a cheerful dinner. Knowing he was displaying appallingly bad manners, McCoy tried several times to join in the conversation, but every thing he said came out harsh and angry, even cruel.  _And to think I've been called charming_ , he thought dully.  _To think I make my living from persuasive speeches and linguistic precision._

He wanted to say  _The two of you are terrifying me_. He wanted to say  _Let me lock you up somewhere safe, like a bomb-proof bunker in Alaska._ He wanted to say  _I can't lose one more of you, not another one, not even one more_.

McCoy took a long swallow of wine to wash the words back down his throat unspoken. There was a silence at the table, Serena and Regan both looking at him, and he realised they were waiting for him to answer a question.

"I'm sorry, what?" he said.

"I said, Jack, since the grand jury refused to indict, is there any reason Regan can't come back to work?"

"No," McCoy said. "No reason. I'm sure there's plenty of work needs doing down in Fraud."

"Fraud." Regan said faintly.

"My case load is pretty light at the moment," McCoy told her. "And Qiao Chen is using the office you were in. Fraud's the best place for you."  _White collar crime. People with sharp pencils, not sharp knives._

" Jack!" Serena sounded outraged.

"She's lucky to still have a job," McCoy told her.

"Okay," Regan said, voice almost steady, "I might see you around the office, Mr McCoy. If you find yourself down on the fourth floor. I'm afraid I'm going to have to call it an early night. Thanks so much, Serena, the food was lovely."

"Thank you, Regan, for all that you've done," Serena said, standing up as Regan did, taking her hands and giving her what McCoy judged to be a carefully calculated friendly-but-not-suggestive kiss on the cheek.

"Don't forget your police escort outside," McCoy said, reaching for his wine glass.

"They're always in my thoughts," Regan said distantly, not looking at either of them. McCoy couldn't help seeing the unshed tears standing in her eyes as she passed him. He drained his glass and signalled to the sommelier.

Serena sat down again and watched Regan leave the restaurant. Then she reached for her own wineglass. "What the  _hell_ is wrong with you, Jack?" she asked

"What do you mean?" McCoy said.

"Your behaviour tonight has been abominable. Has Regan done something to piss you off? Suggested that not every defendant you prosecute is the anti-Christ? Called your attention to the constitution?"

McCoy snorted. "Hardly," he said. "I think Regan's preference would be to put the firing squad right in the arraignment court to save time."

"Then what is  _wrong_  with you?" Serena asked.

"I didn't know you'd grown so thin-skinned, Serena," McCoy said.

"I haven't, and don't try to bait me in order to make me drop the subject," Serena said. "You taught me too well for me to fall for that. What is it with you and her? Did she lose a case for you? Did she run over your dog? Or is she just not pretty enough for you?"

"Oh  _come on,_ Serena," McCoy said. "You know me better than that."

"You mean I know you exactly that well," Serena said.

McCoy shrugged. "There's nothing wrong with Regan Markham – except she's green. She doesn't belong in Trials. Arthur saddled me with her, and she can't cope."

"Is there a problem with her work?"

"There's a problem with her judgement." McCoy's glass was empty again, and the sommelier leapt to fill it. "I'm not going to handle her with kid gloves. If she can't handle the heat, she's got no place in the kitchen."

"And you're going to turn  _up_ the heat until she realises that?" Serena said. "Oh, I'm sorry, you just did, didn't you?"

"She has no fucking judgement, Serena! That stunt the other night is typical."

"I know it put you in a difficult position, Jack," Serena said, "but you can understand how it happened. We've both seen enough over the years to know how hard it can be for an unarmed officer to take someone into custody."

"I'm not talking about the fight," McCoy said. "I'm talking about being there in the first place. And if she was going to get herself involved, she should have had the sense to stay in the car."

"You know, Jack, I don't remember you sending me home indefinitely when I walked into a hostage situation wearing a bullet-proof vest. That arguably shows even  _less_  sense."

"That was different," McCoy said,

"How? Because it was before ADA Cabot got shot? Before Alex Borgia was murdered? Before Mary Firienze?"

"It was just  _different_ ," McCoy said.

"Bullshit, Jack," Serena said. " _You're_  different. As long as you keep denying that, you'll keep getting further and further away from the Jack McCoy I used to know – and used to like." She dropped her napkin in her plate and stood up. "Let me know if that man makes a reappearance. I miss him."

McCoy watched her stride away.  _To hell with her, anyway_ , he thought, and then felt a chill wash over him, a chill he chased away by draining his glass. He looked at his watch.  _The night is young._

_Younger than me, anyway._

_Damn Serena. What the hell does she know? What the hell right does she have?_

McMurty's would still be open. For hours yet.

Really, it wasn't that late at all.


	24. Liquor And Women

_McMurty's Bar_

_10 pm_   _Thursday 2nd November 2006_

* * *

 

The warmth of the bar was positively tropical after the chill of the street. McCoy settled onto a bar stool and opened his coat.

Down the other end of the bar a man with a guitar was singing about finding his baby in St James Infirmary, so cold, so white, so bare, and McCoy was visited by  _–_

_"_   _Jack, it's Adam. Pick up the phone. Jack. Pick up the phone. It's Claire."_

_"Looks like Ricci caught it when she opened the door to leave," Briscoe said, as if 'caught it' could possibly capture whatever had left Toni Ricci a bloody ruin on the floor._

_"We've found a car," Anita_   _Van Buren said._

_"Alexandra Cabot has been shot dead," Branch said bluntly._

_"There's really no good way to tell you this so I'm just going to say it," Don_   _Cragen said._

_"You need to come to the hospital, Jack. Pick up the phone."_

_"It's Danielle_   _Jack."_

_"She was in her office," Elliot_   _Stabler told him. "They're not sure how she's gonna do. Have to wait and see if she wakes up."_

_"Goddamn it Jack, pick up the phone!"_

flick flick flick like the cameras at a press conference going off in his face, all the bad moments in hospital corridors sliding past compressed in two-fifths of a second that hit like a punch in the gut.

McCoy told himself he was used to it. Told himself he could take it. He took a breath. Took another and signalled the barman. "Scotch, straight up. On my tab"

He could close his eyes and be standing by that car, the sun hot on the back of his neck, the flies buzzing loud and the smell –

Some days he felt that he was living his whole life in that lane, by that car.  _And actually_ , McCoy thought,  _that wouldn't be too bad._

Not compared to  _dark hair and tape_ followed by  _red hair matted with blood and eyes fixed, staring_  followed by  _pale face, bruised in a hospital bed_  followed by _sirens and Danielle Melnick still and white on the gurney_  –

Scotch burned smooth down his throat.

"Bad day?" the man next to him said, a younger man whose Rolex probably cost as much as McCoy's whole wardrobe.

"Yeah." McCoy said.

"Yeah, me too. I'm Peter."

" Jack," McCoy said. His glass was empty. He signalled for another. "What went wrong with your day?"

"My boss. She's always busting my balls." Peter shrugged. "What can you do? What about you?"

"My ADAs." At Peter's blank look, McCoy translated a little: "Assistants. Getting themselves into trouble and not doing as they're told."

"Women?" Peter asked, and when McCoy nodded: "Well. What do you expect? You don't get rationality from females."

"Maybe not," McCoy said.  _You don't get that much rationality from men, either_.

_How is it rational to rape and torture a woman? To break her leg, to beat her, to gag her and blindfold her with tape –_

_To dump her in the trunk of a car and leave her to suffocate in her own blood and vomit_  –

He drained his glass. The scotch hit hard, but not hard enough.  _Hard liquor and fast women,_ McCoy thought, thinking of Regan's toast.  _I guess it's true. They're damn sure gone so fast. Tossing their hair as they get into the lift with a smile and a 'See you tomorrow' and then –_

_Trunk of a car –_

_Broken body in a hospital bed –_

_Sprawled bloody on stained green carpet –_

_Gone so fast._

_Gone._

"At least they work for you," Peter said. "They have to listen, if they work for you."

McCoy snorted. "Tell  _them_  that. They know better. Know better than to listen to me. Jus' go their own merry way."

"Then sack them, brother," Peter advised.

The barman set another drink in front of McCoy. He took a sip. "I'm trying,  _brother_."

_Trying. Send Regan back to Fraud to worry about ink-stains. Keep Abbie out of the case. Sit Casey down. Trying._

"That's the way. I mean, take the bitch I work for. What's she doing downtown anyway? Doesn't she have a husband? Doesn't she have kids?"

"Does she?" McCoy asked.  _Mary had neither. Mary had a TiVo and a caseload that could choke a horse. Mary used to say she had plenty of time for marriage and family and for right now she wanted to play as hard as she worked. Mary -_ "Your boss, does she?"

"That's not the point. The point is, there's things that men should be doing."

"I hear you." McCoy said. "Iss all very well, talking about 'girls can do anything'. Tha's fine. But what happens when they can't? What about that?"  _What about when they're in the boot of a car with tape over their mouth trying to breathe past a throat full of vomit? When some skell pushes in behind them at their front door and forces them down and hits their head over and over and over again? When the door opens and there's a man with a knife that's so sharp and cuts so deep –_ "What then?"

"They blame you for pointing it out," Peter said.

"They blame you for pointin' it out," McCoy agreed. "An' then they get in trouble. Get hurt. Can't let that happen."

"Maybe it would teach them a lesson," Peter said.

"What?" McCoy wasn't sure he'd heard right. The room was suddenly too hot and too loud.

"Maybe it would teach them a lesson, getting in trouble," Peter said. He banged his glass down on the bar, big hand clenched tight. "These chicks, they have men to bail them out all the time. They expect it. Then they reckon they did it aaaall themselves."

"Tha's not what I meant," McCoy protested.

"Oh, sure," Peter said agreeably.

"I jus' want to make sure they're okay," McCoy said. He finished his drink. "It's jus' different for them. No getting around it."  _Different. One way to put it_.

_\- dark hair and blood and the trunk of a car –_

Or was it  _red hair and tape and the trunk of a car – green carpet, blonde hair – basement and blood soaked hair and – bruised face pale in hospital bed – all those faces – all those names -_

"But they want to get paid the same," Peter said. "For doing a man's job."

"It's not abou' the pay," McCoy said. "I'm no' saying – not saying they shouldn't – I'm jus' saying they should  _be careful._ "

_More careful than Mary. More careful than Alex. More careful than – god, than Regan! Careful. Or I have to be careful for them._

"So they don't mess it up," Peter said.

"Tha's not – tha's not what I mean. They  _can_  do it. Abbie – she's the best prosecutor in the southern district."

"If you say so," Peter said.

"I  _do_  say so," McCoy said. "An' i's  _true_. She  _can_  do it . Tha's not what I mean. I mean – it's just not safe. Tha's what I mean."

And Abbie had to be safe. McCoy couldn't bear the thought of Abbie not being safe, couldn't bear the thought of Abbie  _in the trunk of a car_  on  _green carpet_  with _hair shaved back to show sutures_  – He choked on his drink, coughed, bile burning bitter in his mouth, and had to swallow hard.

"So you end up taking care of them," Peter said. "One more thing you gotta do for the stupid bitches."

McCoy looked at him. In his well-cut suit with his sharp hair-cut, Peter looked nothing like McCoy, but McCoy had the strange uneasy sense he was looking into the mirror.

It wasn't a mirror he liked.

_"Sometimes the only way you can look in the mirror is with rose-coloured glasses," Regan said._

_"That's an excuse for a lack of will power." McCoy said._

He looked away from Peter across the bar to the real mirror and saw -

_dark hair and tape and – "I'd like to keep hold of the case, Jack," Alex said, very intent. "You sure?" he asked, and she bit her lip, shrugged. "Not pretending it doesn't make me nervous," she said. "But – I can't just prosecute the **harmless** felons."_

Saw –

_red hair and bloody green carpet_  heard  _Toni_   _Ricci talking in Russian to Volsky, her voice strong and level. 'Not one step backwards_ ',  _she_   _told him it meant. Lennie told him later that the blood trail on the carpet showed she had fought to keep the killers out of the safe-house, fought hard, fought for almost a minute with her throat cut, fought to the last beat of her heart. 'Not one step backwards'_.

Saw –

_"I'm not running scared from these people!" Alex Cabot declared to Arthur Branch, chin up. McCoy thought she looked like someone ought to take her picture and call it 'Courage'. Then he saw that her hands were trembling. Alex saw him notice it and put her hands in her pockets, lifted her chin a little more. In that moment McCoy thought she was as brave as anyone he'd ever met._

Saw –

_"What am I going to do?" Casey said when McCoy asked her, sitting by her hospital bed. Her lips trembled a little but she didn't give way to tears. "I'm going to get discharged, go back to the office and put the son-of-a-bitch in jail, that's what I'm going to do!" "Go get 'em, Jolene_   _Lewis," McCoy said, and she grinned, raised her fists like a boxer. He could see the fear in her eyes behind the bravado. He could tell her that he'd take care of her, but that wasn't what she needed from him today. "Got your back, Jolene" he said instead, and saw her eyes fill with grateful tears._

"Stupid bitches," Peter said again.

" Toni Ricci," McCoy said with careful precision, "could buy and sell you any day of the week,  _Peter_. And twice on Sundays. " He lifted his glass. "A toast, _brother_. To hard liquor – and – and – and  _brave_  women." He tossed back the last of his drink and slammed the glass down on the bar. "'Scuse me." He stood up. "Hafta make a call."

He stumbled away from the bar and pulled out his phone.  _Not one step backwards_  -  _not just Toni_   _Ricci. Alexandra, Mary, any one of those lawyers could mop the floor with that asshole. Son-of-a-bitch_.

Head spinning, he paged through the saved numbers on his mobile.  _B for Borgia_. He couldn't stop himself from pressing DIAL There was not even the decency of a ring before a recorded voice announced that the number was out of service.

_Out of service. Out of service in the trunk of a car -_

And what would he say if he could by some miracle place that call? What would she say to him?

_Come **on** , Jack_, she'd say. McCoy guessed he'd probably gone past the limits of even Alex Borgia's deference. He could almost hear her voice.  _Come **on** , Jack_

McCoy stared down at his phone and paged through the saved numbers to reach Regan Markham's. He pressed DIAL.

The phone rang and rang. After a few minutes, he heard Regan's voice.

"Regan? Jack."

"-so leave a message and a number I can call you back on," she went on, "and I'll do that as soon as I can."

"Oh," McCoy said. "Okay. Look, I jus wanted to tell you that S'rena's probly right. So you sh'd come to work. I mean, in Trials. You sh'd come to work t'morrow in Trials. But I guess you weren't there, were you? Anyway, doesn't matter. Doesn't matter. Jus - S'rena's probly right. See you at work. G'night."

He broke the connection and shoved his phone back in his pocket and stumbled back to the bar – well away from Peter. He signalled the bartender. "'Nother scotch."

" Mr McCoy, do you think maybe you've had enough?" the bartender asked.

"Not nearly," McCoy said. "Not. Even. Close."


	25. Face To Face

_Apartment of Regan_   _Markham_

_Broadway Breslin_

_1186 Broadway_

_11.30 pm Thursday 2nd November 2006_

* * *

 

Regan flailed herself free of a dream of  _blood stinking hot and Robbie screaming and screaming and screaming_   _and –_ at the sound of her ringing phone. She tried to find it by the bed, lost her balance and rolled off the bed onto the floor, knocked the phone away and scrambled after it. It went silent before she could pick it up.

"Dammit!" Regan sat on the floor and rubbed the shin she'd barked falling out of bed, waiting for the beep that heralded a new voicemail. The apartment was cold enough to make her shiver. Regan welcomed the chill that stripped the last traces of sleep from her. Her phone beeped, and she pressed the right number of keys and heard McCoy's voice.

She listened to the whole of the message frowning, played it again. It made no sense.  _And oh lord_ ,  _he sounded drunk_.

She called him back, but the phone rang through to voicemail, did so again when she tried again.

_Oh, god-fucking-dammit._

She was pissed with McCoy, and she knew she had every right to be. She was tempted to go back to bed.  _He's old enough to look after himself._

Except he sounded too drunk to find his way to the bathroom, let alone home from wherever he was.  _And you can't really take at face value someone's claims to be fine when they've been calling you by a dead woman's name._

What had Briscoe said? _When your partner's in trouble, you don't leave him to the sharks, or leave him to drown._ Regan hadn't really needed reminding, had asked the question just to hear the answer in another voice. Briscoe's metaphors were more nautical than Gran-Da Markham's but they boiled down to the same message:

_Your partner's lost in the woods, girl, what you gonna do? You gonna leave him to freeze in the dark, or you gonna saddle up?_

On the job, your partner could be closer than your family, closer than a lover. Even when you loathed each other, your partner had an absolute and final claim on you.  _When you are following someone through a door and the both of you have guns,_  Regan thought _, there's not a lot of room for ambiguity in the relationship._

_Your partner's broken down on the highway somewhere in the rain and the night, girl, what you gonna do? Stay inside where it's warm and dry, or drive out and find him?_

She'd gone onto the force already primed to believe loyalty was the purest virtue. Not until she was cut loose from the blue line did Regan appreciate that fidelity could exist without a subject, isolation transmuting it into an inchoate longing and an abiding insecurity bred of knowing there was no-one to watch her back.

That had been just one of all the losses she had thought she'd learn to live with.

But leaning against the side of her bed in the dark Regan knew she was constitutionally incapable of going back to sleep and leaving Jack McCoy to whatever trouble he might find his way into to.

These days Jack McCoy was the closest thing to a partner Regan had,  _pain in ass though he could be_. He was the closest thing in the world she had to a partner, which also meant he was just about the only thing she had in the world.

She got to her feet and dialled his cell phone number again. As she waited for him to answer she stepped to the dresser and ran her fingers over the cuff-link that lay there.  _Are you sure,_  he had asked in that cold grey early morning moment when the news came about Mary,  _Are you sure,_ trying futilely to delay knowing that what he heard was true. Regan wished she could change the way the world had turned in that instant, wished so hard she felt longing as a pain in her chest. _Done's done. If wishing and wanting could change it you'd be back in Seattle worrying about how to afford braces and Nintendo on cops' salaries._

_Done's done._

She was in New York, and Mary was in the hospital, and Jack McCoy was out there somewhere in the night.

The call went through to voicemail again. Regan hung up and got dressed. She grabbed her wallet and keys, looked up McCoy in the DA's Office emergency contact directory and wrote his address on the back of her hand in biro. She was pulling the door closed behind her when she thought  _cops,_  thought  _Walters_.

She didn't want to drag her drunk boss out of a bar with an audience, but it was hard to see how it could be helped. But when she got downstairs and looked around to spot the officers watching her tonight she saw a patrol car up the street with the two cops standing next to it, bracing some guy outside the corner bodega.

Regan turned the other way. After half a block she risked a look behind her and saw that the car hadn't moved.

_That was easy_ , she thought, a little unnerved.  _So much for New York's finest between me and Edward_   _Walters_

_And now you're wandering around New York at midnight, unarmed, with a psycho possibly after you. What the fuck are you thinking, girl?_

_Looking for my partner. So shut up, Gran-Da._

Hailing a cab, she told the driver to take her to  _Le Petit Chiene._  Serena had said she'd picked the restaurant because it was around the corner from McCoy's place. Odds were good he was in a bar somewhere between the two.

McCoy was in the third bar Regan tried, a hole-in-the-wall called  _McMurty's._ It was nice, Regan thought, classy without being high-class: long bar, subdued décor, the kind of place Regan herself wouldn't have minded having as a local, instead of the tittie bars and dance clubs that filled her neighbourhood.

She stood by the door, watching McCoy, slumped on his barstool, argue with the bartender.

"You've had enough, Mr McCoy," she heard him say.

"I'll tell  _you_  when I've had enough," McCoy slurred.

_Here goes._  Regan took a deep breath and slipped onto the barstool beside McCoy. "Hey, Jack," she said.

He blinked blurrily at her for a moment. "What are you doing here?" he asked eventually. Regan wasn't entirely confident he was talking to her.

"Come to take you home," she told him. "It's late."

"Not tha' late."

"Late enough," Regan said. "Let's go, come on."  _Amazing how it all comes back to you._  She stood up and coaxed him to his feet. McCoy started to protest and she hushed him. "Does he owe anything on his tab?" she asked the bartender.

"Yeah," the bartender said, and named a sum that made Regan blanch, and thank god she'd had the sense to withdraw the maximum today. She counted out the bills, corralled Jack before he could stumble back to the bar, and dragged him out into the night.

He staggered when the cold air hit him and Regan pulled his arm over her shoulders. With one arm around his waist she steered him slowly along the street.

"I think," McCoy said confidingly, "I think maybe I'm  _drunk_."

"You think right," Regan said. McCoy sagged against her and she braced herself. "Try to stand up, Jack, it's going to make this easier. Left foot, right foot. Left foot, right foot. Come on, help me out here."

"'kay," McCoy said, then: "I think – I think maybe I'm going to be sick."

Regan steered him quickly towards the gutter but not quickly enough.

"Sorry," McCoy said after a moment, straightening up and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Regan looked down at her splattered boots. "Happens to the best of us," she said resignedly. "Come on, keep walking. Nearly there."

"Long way from there," McCoy said sadly, but he gave in to her urging and let her help him along the street. "Long way from anywhere."

The doorman at his building let them in. "Can you manage?" he asked Regan.

"Yeah," she said, his lack of surprise or concern telling her volumes. "I got this. Come on, Jack."

At his door, she leaned him against the wall and searched his pockets for his keys.

"Didn't know you cared," McCoy said with a leer as she fished them out of his pants pocket.

"And you still don't," Regan said, unlocking the door. "Which way's the bedroom?"

"End of the – I c'n find my way," McCoy said. "'m okay from here." He shrugged off his coat and tossed it towards the coat rack. Then he leaned sideways and reached out to where the wall wasn't to steady himself. Regan grabbed him before he could fall and McCoy clutched her. "Oops," he said.

"Down the end of the hall?" Regan said. McCoy nodded, and then put his head down on her shoulder. She poked him in the ribs. "No passing out," she warned him. "You weigh too much. And I have but the body of a weak and feeble woman."

"And a very nice body it is too," McCoy said with what Regan presumed was reflex charm, his hands moving from her shoulders to less neutral locations.

"None of that," she snorted, and half-dragged him down the hall, dumping him on his bed and rolling him over onto his side. McCoy closed his eyes and began to snore immediately.

Regan sighed, rubbing her back where the muscles protested the workout she'd just had.  _Another good deed to add to my karma bank._ Her nose wrinkled at the smell coming from her boots and she shucked her coat and went in search of his bathroom.

The boots came up okay. Regan found a bucket beneath the bathroom sink and put it by the bed, then filled a glass with water and put it and two aspirin on the nightstand.

McCoy hadn't moved, Regan noted with a flicker of concern. She put her hand to his forehead and then checked his pulse. His temperature seemed normal, as did his pulse. She pinched his arm, hard, and McCoy roused a little.

"What?" he said.

"Nothing. Just checking," Regan told him.

"Checking?" McCoy heaved himself up on his elbow and blinked blearily at her. Regan was impressed. He was functioning remarkably well, given how drunk he was.

"Checking you don't have alcohol poisoning," she told him.

He processed that. "Do I?"

"No," Regan said. "You'll have a hell of a hangover tomorrow, though."

He collapsed back on the bed. "I know," he mumbled. Regan thought he had passed out again but after a moment he opened his eyes. "When did you learn to check for alcohol poisoning? On the job?"

"No. Childhood lessons in making sure mommy and daddy don't die in the night," Regan said.

"Oh," McCoy said. "So when you – so when I – I was a real asshole."

"You were a rolled-gold asshole," Regan agreed, sitting down on the end of the bed and starting to undo his shoelaces. "Not, may I add, for the first time." She pulled off one shoe, then the other, and set them on the floor by the end of the bed.

"You're unusually  _feisty_ tonight," McCoy said.

"I'm calmly confident that you won't remember a word of this tomorrow," Regan said, considering how much effort she should put into making McCoy comfortable.  _I'm sure as hell not putting him into his pyjamas! Watch, belt and shoes was the rule for Dad._ Regan sat down on the edge of the bed and took off McCoy's watch, then unbuckled his belt and began to pull it off.

"You're being very forward, Ms Markham," McCoy said slyly.

Regan snorted. "I'm too old to be taken advantage of," she said, "And you're too drunk to take advantage of anybody."

"Probably," McCoy agreed.

Regan snorted. "Thanks," she said wryly.

"I mean, not that you're too old. Tha's not what I meant. Shit. How old  _are_  you?"

"Oh, no, you just forfeited your chance to ask me that," Regan said. "You should take these aspirin."

Raising himself on one elbow again, McCoy took the pills and then the water glass to wash them down. "I'm sure you're younger than – you lo- I mean - shit."

"When in hole," Regan told him, "cease to dig."

"I mean, you are practically a babe in arms," McCoy said, ignoring her advice. "A mere spring chicken. Hardly more than a teenager."

"Compared to you, maybe," Regan said, taking the glass back. "Compared to Qiao Chen, not so much."

" Chen. Chen is about twelve years old." McCoy slumped back down on the bed. "No, tha's not true. Chen is maybe eleven years old, on a good day."

"You gave him my office," Regan pointed out with an edge to her voice.

"He  _claimed_  your office. By Monday he'll have  _pot plants_ in there." McCoy rolled his head on the pillow to look at her as she put his belt on the dresser. "Boy knows how to stake a claim, hafta give him that."

"Maybe I should have got a pot plant," Regan said, sitting down on the edge of the bed by his feet.

"You shoulda," McCoy agreed, surprising her. "If you get given an inch – take a goddamn mile. Hear me?"

"Yeah," Regan said. " Jack, when you found me in that office I though you were going to sack me on the spot."

"It's Alex's office," McCoy said instantly, glaring at her.

"You told me it was temporary," Regan went on. "So – "

"You took me at my word," McCoy said. "Stupid of you."

"I should defy you?"

"When I'm being an asshole," McCoy said, and grinned.

"Can you hold up a flag or something? To let me know?" Regan asked, and he laughed aloud.

"Were you the class clown in high school?"

"No, I was a jock," Regan said.

"Really?" He studied her. "Basketball?"

"Good call."

"There's a pick-up game at the Y Thursday lunch-time. Cops against ADAs. You should come down."

Regan laughed. "You and me should play a little one-on-one. Every time you're being an asshole."

McCoy smiled, but it was a sad smile. "I didn't used to be. Well, maybe defendants thought so. Also my ex-wife. But you ask Serena. Ask Jamie. Or Abbie." He sighed. "Ask Alex."

"I can't ask Alex," Regan said carefully.

"I know," McCoy said irritably. "I  _do_ know. I'll know it every second. I can't – I can't  _walk past_ that office without looking to see if she's there. Every time I blink I see – you know, they dumped her, in that car, they dumped her alive.  _She was alive_. If we found her – fast enough – maybe."

"It's always maybe." Regan put her hand on his ankle. "It's always maybe, Jack."

"She died like that, all alone, waiting to be found. And we didn't find her. I think about it. I can't stop thinking about it. That she's waiting. With the tape over her mouth, trying to breathe. Waiting. Waiting in vain."

" Jack," Regan said softly. She stroked his foot. "For her, it was a moment in time, and it's passed. You're the one trapped in it. Let it pass."

"Very fucking profound," McCoy snapped. "Where did you get that, a fortune cookie?"

"Buffy the Vampire Slayer, actually," Regan said. She stood up and went to the bedside table, reaching for the lamp.

"Leave the light on," McCoy said instantly.

"You need to sleep," Regan said.

"To sleep, to sleep perchance to dream," McCoy said sadly.

"You dream about her," Regan said.

"If I only dreamed about Alex it would be a good night," McCoy said. He rubbed one eye, then the other, with the heel of his hand. Regan could see moisture on his eyelashes when he dropped his hand back to the bedspread. "If I could sleep, just once. Just one night."

"That's what it's like," Regan agreed. "For a while."

"Don't try to tell me you know what it's like," McCoy said angrily. "Don't try to tell me  _you know what it's like_ to know a young woman who looks to  _you_ is missing somewhere being beaten and  _dying_  and  _waiting_  for you to find her while she chokes in her own blood and vomit, trapped in that car with the sun heating it and  _nobody_ coming – " He was shouting at her, half sitting up, and then his face changed, his mouth worked. "I'm going to – "

Regan took him by the elbow and hauled him over to lean over the bucket with more efficiency than gentleness. McCoy retched and coughed, his stomach all but empty. When the spasm eased he slumped back onto the bed. Regan took the bucket into the bathroom and rinsed it, then wet the facecloth hanging in the shower and went back into the bedroom. McCoy opened his eyes as she sat down on the bed beside him.

"Close your eyes," she said. He did. She wiped his face gently with the cool cloth.

"You're good at that," McCoy mumbled against the facecloth.

"Washing faces?"

"You're good at taking care of people. Is that childhood lessons as well?"

"Mostly it was the job," Regan said. "On patrol, most of the people you see are having a pretty bad day. Sometimes it's worst day of their life. Taking care of them is part of the job."

"You liked it?"

"Some cops hate patrol. I loved it. Never wanted to go plainclothes. You make a real difference to people, you're there when they really need someone to be there and you can take care of them when no-one else can." She folded the cloth again and patted his forehead. "If I had been able to stay on the street I'd still be a cop."

"Why the law?" McCoy asked. "You want to take care of people, why the law? Why not – I don't know - nursing?"

"I was already doing the law degree. I thought about being an EMT – but I was already doing the law degree. And – too much dying." She refolded the cloth and ran it along his hairline. "It's not the same. EMT – they yank people out of cars wrecks, take them to the hospital, leave them there. The cops – they're there with the families, we used to take them down to the hospital, sit with them. Get statements. Some cops can't stand it, the grief, the fear, all those people crying and angry and shocked. I used to go home and take off my uniform and think 'Today, you made a difference to someone who was having a very bad day'."

McCoy opened his eyes and looked directly at her, face completely open.  _Defenceless,_  Regan thought.  _No guile, no anger, no reflex charm_. "I'm having a very bad day, Regan," he said softly.

"I know," Regan said, sitting patiently with her hands in her lap. In the DA's Office, she was running on the hamster wheel, trying to keep up and never knowing if she knew what she was doing or was just faking it. But here, she knew what to do. Her partner was lost in the dark.  _And I have a torch and a map. Or at the very least I've been lost here before._ "I know you are, Jack."

"Is that why you're being nice to me?" he asked. "Even though I'm an asshole?"

"You're not an asshole," Regan said, not sure she was telling the truth. "You've just been acting like one."

"I know," McCoy said. "I'm not going to say I'm sorry. Different words keep coming out of my mouth."

"Okay."

"They get in the way. I open my mouth and I see them and things I don't mean to say come out of my mouth."

"I know," Regan said.

"You don't know," he said disdainfully. "Don't  _patronise_  me."

"I used to be a cop, remember? You think I never saw anyone I knew dead?"

McCoy's eyes popped open. "Oh," he said. "Oh. That's me being an asshole again, isn't it."

"Yep," Regan said. "But I forgive you. You need some sleep, Jack. And so do I." She got up from the bed and saw the slightest movement of McCoy's fingers towards her, quickly stilled.

"Maybe I should stay," she said after a moment. "In case."

She sat down on the floor by the bed and rested her arm on the bed near his hand – not touching, but close enough for him to feel the weight against the bedspread. After a moment McCoy moved his hand very slightly, just enough for his fingers to graze her sleeve.

"Ed Green told me something," Regan said, leaning her head against the bed so she could look at him. "He told me you got pulled off the trial for Borgia's killers. That true?"

"Yeah," McCoy said. Sprawled on his side, he showed no signs of falling asleep, gaze steady on her face.  _Sobering up_ , Regan thought. "I pushed the envelope."

"How far?"

"All the way to  _Toledo_ ," McCoy said, with a laugh that could have been mistaken for a whimper of pain.

"No-one's going to take the Firienze case away from you," Regan said.

"Maybe they should," McCoy said.

"Maybe you should get your head in the game," Regan said, letting a little edge come into her voice.  _Good cop – bad cop is fine when you're working with a partner. When you're **working** your partner you gotta be both._

"I see those pictures – what Edwards did to Mary – " He was silent a moment. "It's like she's always dying, right in front of me. You know about that, too?"

"Moment in time," Regan said.

"You get all your spiritual guidance from television?" he asked.

"You want I should get it from the bible?"

"It's a more conventional approach," McCoy said, smiling.

"Does it work better?" Regan asked.

"I wouldn't know," McCoy said. "Moment in time, huh?"

"She lived a long time, Jack, a long time when she wasn't dying. It was just a part of what happened to her."

"She only lived a little while, and she'll be dead a long time." McCoy said. "That's the truth of it. I used to think I knew so  _many_  truths – about the  _law_ , about the _job_. All those girls – Sally, and Diana, Claire, Abbie – Alex … all those girls, and I was teaching 'em about the world. Teaching 'em about the  _law._ Because  _I knew._ I taught Alex to get killed, that's what I taught  _her_." He closed his eyes for a moment and swallowed convulsively, then looked intently at Regan. "Not gonna teach  _you_ those lessons, you can be sure of  _that_."

"You honestly think you can keep me safe, Jack?" Regan said. "That anything you do or don't tell me can do that?"

"I'm doing my best," McCoy said. "And I'm  _damn_ sure not going to get you killed. I told Alex to do it, you know that? No, of course you don't. No-one was there. Except me. And her. And she's dead. Well, I told her. I told her not to let intimidation affect the way you prosecute a crime. I told it didn't make any difference if she was scared of getting killed. I told her the law only works if we  _make_  it work. What a fucking pompous windbag I was, eh?"

"Jack," Regan said softly, moving her hand a little so her fingers lay over his.

"I thought – I thought I was talking about my own decisions," McCoy said. "I thought I was teaching her a  _valuable life lesson_ , that I was  _leading by example_. And I  _did_ teach her. And she  _did_  learn. And she ended up in the trunk of that car, and we couldn't find her.  _We couldn't find her_."

"It's over, Jack," Regan said. "It's the past."

"A moment in fucking time? It's the only moment in time for her. I think about her, I see that fucking car, I can't remember – "

"Sure you can," Regan said. "What did she look like? I never met her, you know. What was she like?"

"She had dark hair," McCoy said, and then closed his eyes and was silent, sweat springing out on his face. "Dark hair, down past her shoulders," he forced out. "She wore bright colours. She had this lime green suit, you could see it three blocks away. And she had big, dark eyes."

"Nice headlights?" Regan asked, and thought she'd gone too far when McCoy's eyes snapped open. The he snorted, and she relaxed.

"Excellent headlights, god forgive me for saying it," he said. "But that wasn't what you noticed. It was her eyes, she was so intent. Especially when she was dealing with victims. She wanted to make it right for them. She didn't know yet that you can't ever make it right. It's not about justice. It's about winning, and about the law. She never knew. She'll never know."

"Did she win her cases?" Regan asked.

"Yeah. She was a good lawyer. She was  _smart_ , and  _quick_  on her feet, and she worked  _hard_. She was a  _damn_  good lawyer."

"What did she sound like? When she talked? Did she have an accent?"

"She came from New York. She had – she had a gentle voice. She could hold her own, in court, in the office, but she wasn't naturally loud. She was sweet. She was a sweet girl. And brave." He was silent a moment. "You know, the first case I worked with her, it was about influenza. I never thought  _influenza_ would be in the Supreme Court Criminal Term, but there you are. And Alex – she promised the mother of this little boy that we would send the defendant down for life."

Regan sat silently, leaning against the bed, listening as McCoy told her the story of the case, something about a promise, about a sentencing deal. She fought to stay awake, to keep her eyes open, to follow the story and the one that came after, to ask the right questions, the questions that steered him away from the final case and the car in the woods. Once she had him started she didn't need to ask that many.  _McCoy could talk under wet cement_. Just the things she knew were important:  _What did she wear, do you remember? Was her hair up or down? Try to picture her, Jack, I want to know. It's a girl thing_. And McCoy cooperated, summoning up an Alex Borgia who was living and vital and wearing a white blouse with drop earrings and leaning back in her chair and frowning a little with her strong dark eyebrows as she tried to follow a particular legal argument …

_An Alexandra_   _Borgia who might live only in memory, but at least tonight was doing more than dying there._

Eventually his voice trailed away. Regan looked at the clock on his bedside table.  _Five am_

_Today is going to be hell._

She looked back at McCoy. His eyes were closed. His hand beneath hers was limp.

"I have to go, Jack," she whispered. "I gotta go to work."

His eyelids fluttered. "Me too."

"Go to sleep. I'll call in sick for you."

He considered. "Thanks," he said sleepily.

"No problem." She slid her hand from his. "Call me if you need anything."

"Yeah," McCoy said. "Regan – you should stay on the tenth floor. Don't go back to Fraud."

"I don't have a desk," Regan said.

"Use mine today," he murmured. His eyes closed and Regan thought he was gone but he blinked, struggling back up out of sleep. "Regan."

"I'm here," she promised. "Go to sleep." It seemed entirely natural to her to smooth his hair back from his forehead. McCoy's eyes closed again, a smile quirking his mouth.

"You're good to me," he said, voice a mere thread of sound as he gave himself up to exhaustion.

"Far better than you deserve," Regan told him, running her fingers through his hair, like he was a kid brother, a partner, a friend.

The smile widened, broke across his face, what Regan thought was a strangely uncomplicated expression for a cynical old bastard like Jack McCoy. "I know," he said. "I kn–" His voice trailed away and he was out.

Regan ran her fingers once more time through his hair and got up. She made sure that the alarm clock was turned off and the blinds closed against the lightening pre-dawn sky. She grabbed her coat.

At the bedroom door, she turned back to look for a long moment at McCoy, sleeping deeply and peacefully with a faint smile still on his face.

She closed the apartment door gently behind her, a smile on her own face, and got all the way down to the street before she realised she'd spent her cab fare home settling McCoy's bar-bill.

Sighing, she turned her collar against the chill and set out on the long walk home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regan's memory lets her down in this chapter: the line about a moment in time is not from Buffy but from Firefly. The mistake is the character's, and intentional.


	26. Clearer Heads Prevail

_10th Floor_

_One Hogan Place_

_6.30 pm Friday 3rd November 2006_

* * *

 

McCoy was getting out of the elevator when his cell phone rang.

"McCoy," he answered, walking past Alex's old office where he could see Chen working on a file.

" Jack, it's Regan. I'm sorry to disturb you but there's a couple of cases on your desk I need to talk to you about."

As he walked down the hall he could hear her voice coming from his office as well as over the phone. "You're not disturbing me," he said from the doorway and saw Regan frown at the phone until she realised why her ears were playing tricks on her and looked up.

"Didn't expect you in," she said mildly, hanging up and standing up from his desk.

"I'm feeling a lot better," McCoy told her truthfully. He had woken a few hours ago, cramped and cold from sleeping all day on top of the bedclothes, exhausted but clear-headed, as if he had been fighting a fever that had finally broken. He had slept so deeply the bedspread was wrinkled only where he had lain, and despite the remnants of his hangover he felt more rested than he had for months.

If he had dreamed, he could not remember what.

_Regan folds the cloth and wipes McCoy's forehead, her touch impersonal despite the intimacy of the act._

_"I'm having a very bad day, Regan," he says, not what he had meant to say but not the biting cruelties that have spilled from his mouth all day either ._

_Regan's expression doesn't change. McCoy could say anything to her and she would look down at him with the same dispassionate kindness. "I know," she says, and her voice carries a deeper conviction. "I know you are, Jack."_

This afternoon Regan looked as wrecked as McCoy knew he deserved to feel, dark shadows beneath her bloodshot eyes, hair escaping from its ponytail and suit rumpled. McCoy felt a pang of guilt. What should he say?  _Thanks for covering for me today? Thanks for last night?_ Both sounded too off-hand but McCoy suspected anything more earnest would embarrass them both.

Besides, Regan had said:  _I'm calmly confident that you won't remember a word of this tomorrow._  How would she respond to knowing that confidence had been misplaced?

"I've got – your files – just a second – " Regan was saying, gathering her papers together, frantically trying to erase all traces of her temporary tenure at McCoy's desk. Papers slipped from her grasp and she scooped them together with trembling hands.

"No rush," McCoy said, putting his briefcase down and taking off his coat. "Take your time."

_"You're not an asshole," Regan says. "You've just been acting like one."_

_McCoy tries to explain why, tries to tell her why he can't apologise to her for the things he's said. Regan tells him with the same kindness that she knows, and McCoy thinks he's caught her in a patronising lie._

_She looks him steadily in the eye. "I used to be a cop, remember? You think I never saw anyone I knew dead?"_

Regan gave him a flustered, grateful smile, and McCoy marvelled at how much her demeanour had changed from the small hours of the morning. McCoy would not have recognised the woman who had sat with him through the darkest hours of the night with such impersonal tenderness in the diffident rookie junior prosecutor stacking law reports before him now.

McCoy had seen glimpses of something more than that rookie in Regan Markham during the prosecutions they had worked together: seen it in the assurance she had displayed pushing Conroy into a confession in the interview room at the 2-7, in the tactfully unobtrusive concern she had shown when McCoy was struck with a migraine. But the previous night was the first time he had realised that those glimpses were more than simply a minor facet of Regan's character.

Looking at her now as she hurriedly straightened the papers on his desk, McCoy wondered how much of the change that seemed to overtake her in the office could be put down to simple lack of confidence and how much was deliberate camouflage for a woman who seemed to keep more secrets than most.

_I bet she'd have been more circumspect if she'd realised that no matter how much I might wish to find amnesia in alcohol, I am never that lucky._

And McCoy did not want to make Regan regret her candour, any more than he wanted to make her regret her kindness.

_Neither of which I deserve._

_"Alex lived a long time, Jack, a long time when she wasn't dying," Regan tells him. "It was just a part of what happened to her." And she asks him question after question – tell me about her, Jack, I never met her – nice headlights? – and what was she wearing? With earrings? And what did she say? Exactly, Jack._

McCoy looked at Regan stacking files and for the first time in months he could remember Alex Borgia doing the same thing, remember her looking up at him, remember her mouth without tape and her eyes dark and alive.

"I've got today's matters here," Regan said, interrupting McCoy's train of thought. "I was going to leave them for you – in order of urgency, this pile's 'right now', this one's 'Monday', and here's 'next week' and these ones, you can probably leave for me."

"Okay," McCoy said. "I'll look through the urgent ones now. You want to wait, or you want to go?"

"My cops aren't here yet," Regan said, and covered her mouth to hide a jaw-cracking yawn. "They have manpower issues at the 2-7," she went on when she could speak. "So no bodyguard when I'm this side of the metal detector. I'm trapped in the building until they show up." McCoy's face must have betrayed what he thought of  _that_ , because she hastened to add: "It's fine, Jack, no-one can get up here past security without a badge or an appointment. "

"It's been known to happen," McCoy said, thinking of Casey Novak in a hospital bed.  _Pale face bruised -_ He blinked the image away.

_"You honestly think you can keep me safe, Jack?" Regan says with gentle scepticism. "That anything you do or don't tell me can do that?"_

"The place is full of people," Regan said. "It's fine. Lieutenant Van Buren is doing the best she can."

McCoy sighed. "I know." He ran his hand through his hair. "Be careful, though, okay? If you hear anything – see anyone – who shouldn't be here, who you don't know, after hours, call security. Whether it's a cleaner or a cop, okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be careful," Regan said.

"I mean it, Regan," McCoy said, not convinced by her tone. "Or I'll have security pull your after-hours access. I'm not kidding."

"Okay," Regan said, hands up in surrender. "Okay. I promise." Then she yawned again. "Oh god, I've got to get some coffee. You want?"

"Thanks," McCoy said.

By the time she came back with two mugs of the tarry swill that passed for coffee in the 10th floor break room, McCoy was well immersed in the case files. He thanked her absently without looking up, vaguely aware that she'd gone to sit on the couch with her own coffee and the day's newspaper.

McCoy went through the files on his desk methodically; making the decisions Regan didn't have the authority to make, writing instructions for the next steps in the prosecution. Some of her suggestions were good – others betrayed her lack of experience. The pile of law reports still on the corner of his desk showed how much effort she had put into the day's work.

When he had finished the coffee Regan had brought him and the files she had set aside as urgent, he looked up to start going through them with her and saw that she was fast asleep, mug of undrunk coffee set on the floor by the couch and the newspaper in her lap.

McCoy got up quietly and went over to her, moving the mug to safety and setting the paper aside. At close range he could see the appearance of peaceful repose was an illusion – she was frowning in her sleep, eyes flickering rapidly beneath closed lids, fingers twitching.

_McCoy closes his eyes but in the dark behind his eyelids he sees the trunk of a car, sees blonde hair, sees red hair and blood – he struggles up again from the edge of sleep, filled with panic-stricken conviction that the only living woman in the room has left. "Regan."_

_She has not left. She is sitting on the edge of the bed, and she reaches out to brush his hair away from his forehead. "I'm here," she promises, a quiet reassurance that is absolute in its certainty. "Go to sleep."_

_McCoy lets his eyes close again, and sees only darkness._

"Hey," he said, and when she didn't wake, he put a hand on her shoulder and shook her gently. "Hey, Regan."

She started, gasped, and woke, blinking up at him, disoriented for a few seconds.

"Bad dream?" McCoy asked, hand still on her shoulder.

"Yeah. I was – " she hesitated, "being chased – by these giant bunny slippers. Huge. Pink. Floppy ears. It was terrifying."

McCoy looked at her. "For future reference, Ms Markham," he said, unable to suppress a smile at her disingenuous expression, "You are an appallingly bad liar."

"I'll bear that in mind," Regan said, smiling back, though faintly, "if I should ever plan to lie to you, Mr McCoy." She sat up with an effort. McCoy put his hand beneath her elbow and helped her, feeling the bone through her jacket as he had when his hand enveloped her shoulder.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah. Sorry, I didn't mean to – "

"Don't worry about it. You've earned a nap. More than." He studied her. "I'm going to go find your cops. You should go home."

"I won't argue," Regan mumbled, eyes closing again.

McCoy stood up and then something occurred to him. "Regan, I remember you dragging me out of a bar last night. I don't remember any police officers."

Regan opened her eyes. "Oh. Yeah, that."

"Regan?" McCoy pressed.

"I – kinda ditched them," Regan admitted, not meeting his gaze.

_Mary_   _Firienze on the floor of the garbage room – Detective Stabler saying "Plenty of time, and he took his time." – Trunk of a car and the sound of flies –_

McCoy took a deep breath and forced himself to look past memory. "Well, that was pretty dumb," he said, managing to keep his voice level and almost managing to keep it to a conversational volume.

_"And I'm **damn** sure not going to get you killed," McCoy tells Regan, both of them knowing the words are meaningless._

"That did occur to me afterwards," Regan said quietly. "I didn't really mean to, but they were down the street, and I didn't really want to have the conversation. And then it was done."

McCoy sat down on the couch next to her, half turning so he could look at her. "I won't say I don't appreciate your discretion," he said carefully, "but  _Jesus_ , Regan!"

She kept her gaze fixed on her hands folded in her lap. "I won't do it again. Please don't bench me again, Jack."

"No," he promised, touching her arm to get her to look up and meet his gaze. "It isn't about whether you do what I tell you, Regan. Or about you trying not to get in trouble with me. It's about you being safe from this  _monster_. You understand that?"

"Yeah," Regan said ruefully. "It was incredibly stupid."

"We'll chalk it up to exigent circumstances," McCoy said. "Circumstances I promise you, won't arise again. Deal?"

"Deal," Regan said, looking him in the eye. Then she yawned again.

"You're going home," McCoy told her firmly

It didn't take long to get Regan turned over to two uniformed officers from the 2-7 and safely on her way home – and most of that time was occupied persuading her that the cases still on his desk could wait until Monday. She was still saying something about a Class B felony that could probably be pled for a sentencing recommendation when the elevator doors closed on her and her cops.

Qiao Chen, still looking neatly pressed after what must have been a ten hour day, popped out of Alex's old office as McCoy passed. " Mr McCoy? Can I talk to you about the Walker case? Sir?"

"What about it?" McCoy asked instantly.

"I've summarised and annotated the latest transcripts from the wiretap," Chen said. "Here they are." He gave McCoy two volumes of papers, each adorned with multiple coloured tabs. "The green tabs are references to Annie Levy. This green sheet summarised those references. The blue ones are possibly references to unidentified criminal acts – pale blue for sexual assault, dark blue for other crimes. And the blue sheet – "

"Summarises those, I'm with you so far," McCoy said.

"Okay, sir, yes, of course. Yellow is every reference to ADA Firienze. And those five red tabs are references to ADA Markham."

McCoy leafed through the pages. "Chatty son-of-a-bitch, isn't he?"

"Yes sir," Chen said.

"This is very thorough, Mr Chen," McCoy said, and Chen stood a little straighter. "Why don't you call it a night? Start fresh on Monday."

"Thanks, Mr McCoy!" Chen said.

Hours after Chen – and everybody else on the tenth floor – had left, McCoy was still at his desk, transcripts on one side, the files from Walker's previous charges on the other, police reports of the investigations spread over the desk. He looked from one to the other, no longer able to avoid seeing what was there to be seen.

_Abbie picked it days ago_.

The pattern said Edward Walters had attacked Mary, beaten her, raped her. But Walters himself, recklessly talkative, totally clueless to the idea that he might be talking on a tapped line, never said a single word that could be read that way. Other women, sure. McCoy picked the form he'd been filling in up off the blotter and checked it through. Walters' words when it came to Annie Levy were too clear to be ignored, even if they drew a judge with a die-hard opposition to the new Homeland Security laws Abbie had exploited on McCoy's request.  _We'll revisit bail first thing Monday,_  he thought.  _We'll get Walters behind bars_. That was still a priority - the occasional references Walters made to Regan and a couple of other female ADAs made it clear that he thought it would be a great joke to actually commit the crime he was suspected of.

But suddenly, that was not the main problem.

It was impossible to read these transcripts with a clear head and not see that Walters was  _not_  the man who'd attacked Mary Firienze. Yet George Huang had said it was a statistical improbability that anyone else had.

_If not Walters, who? If not Walters, how?_


	27. Civil Disobedience

_10th Floor_

_One Hogan Place_

_1.30 pm Saturday 4th November 2006_

* * *

 

McCoy thought he was alone in the building – or at least on the floor. It was a Saturday afternoon, the weather was cold but clear, the office was gloomy. He was pulling a court report out of the shelves when he heard footfalls.

The hair on the back of his neck lifted. There was security downstairs but - it wasn't unheard of for felons seeking revenge to get into the building after hours on false pretences.  _Casey's pale face against hospital pillows._

He had told Regan that if she heard something, if she saw something, whether a delivery man or a cleaner or a cop, when she was working alone, if she didn't know the person she would call security – or he would forbid her to be in the building after hours.

It occurred to him to follow his own orders – but his pride rebelled. He wouldn't live it down with the cops he dealt with if he hit the panic button over a cleaner or a junior assistant. Instead he picked up his bar association award with its useful spiky edges and moved quietly into the hall.

The noise came again, from one of the conference rooms. McCoy trod quietly down the hall until he could see around the door-frame.

Nothing. He stepped a little further in to peek around the doorframe and suddenly a hard grip closed on his wrist. Yanked off balance, he stumbled forward and then found himself slammed up against the wall. He saw stars, felt a forearm against his throat and a body pinning him to the wall.

"Oh." It was a woman's voice and McCoy blinked his vision clear as the pressure on his neck let up. It was Regan Markham who had him pinned to the wall.

She let him go and he staggered, dizzy. Regan grabbed him again and steadied him.

"Geez, Jack, I'm sorry, I didn't mean – I thought – "

"It's okay." He leaned against the wall and squeezed his eyes shut. "I crept up on you."

"You hit your head? Let me see." Obediently he bent his head forward and felt her fingers part his hair. "No blood. Look at me? How many fingers?"

"Three." The dizziness had subsided but Regan still braced him against the wall. She was only a few inches shorter than he was, and close enough for him to feel her breath on his neck.

"Feel sick? Ears ring?" she asked, not moving away.

"No. And it's November 4, 2006 and George W Bush is the President." Jack said.

"Oriented times three," Regan said, smiling. "Phew. Imagine the career-limiting consequences of bruising the boss's brain!"

"I have a pretty hard head," Jack said, and Regan's smile widened. With her hair pulled back, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, she looked even less like a lawyer than usual, an impression reinforced by her athletic build, the strength of the arm still bracing him.

"Take it easy, though," she said, and pulled his arm over her shoulders, slipping her arm around his waist. "Sit down for a minute, over here." Regan drew him towards a chair and another wave of dizziness swept over him as she leaned into him, the muscle and bone of her shoulder shifting beneath his hand. "Sit down," Regan said again. She eased him into the chair and knelt beside him. McCoy leaned forward, elbows on knees, his head in his hands.

"What are you doing here on the weekend?" he asked her.

"I think it's best if we have a don't-ask-don't-tell policy on that one," Regan said. McCoy looked past her to the conference table strewn with familiar-looking documents, files, and annotated transcripts.

"You're working Mary's case," he said.

"I came out of my front door this morning to go for a run and saw two detectives from Special Victims with Edward Walters shoved up against the wall," Regan said. "I had a sudden urge to get the son-of-a-bitch locked up. Can you blame me?"

"No," McCoy said, thinking  _Jesus, he got that close to her_ , seeing  _smooth blonde bob matted with blood_ seeing  _trunk of a car_ \- He swallowed hard and focused on Regan's face, unmarked and unhurt and right now with a small upright line of concern between her eyebrows. "I  _hoped_ ," he told her, "that if you kept your distance from the case he'd forget about you. How did he know where you lived?"

"Followed me home?" Regan said, shrugging. "Detective Tutuola told me after that Walters claimed he was just passing. Which is possible. There are a few places in my neighbourhood that a man like that might frequent."

"Then maybe you should move," McCoy said. "And where the hell are your cops?"

"Downstairs, one on each door," Regan said. "I feel a little bit like – " Her voice trailed away.

"Like the bait on a hook?" McCoy said. His voice was sharper than he intended with the thought of what could go wrong with such a plan and Regan flinched a little from him, nodding. McCoy put his hand on her shoulder. "Regan," he said, squeezed her shoulder to make her look at him. "You want me to call Anita and have them stick closer?"

"Nah," Regan said with a bravery McCoy could tell was mostly façade. "I know how the game's played. I understand what they're doing. Calculated risk."

"That's no good," McCoy said. "I don't want you running any risk, calculated or not. Regan?" He squeezed her shoulder again. "Okay?"

"Yeah," Regan said. She gave him a tiny smile. "Thanks, Jack."

He stood up and went to the table, lifting one of the files and putting it down again. "So tell me, what do you think?"

Regan hesitated. She came to stand beside him, looking down at the files. "Well …" she said warily, and stopped.

McCoy sighed. "I'll tell you what," he said. "Let's try this: you do your best to pretend I'm not completely unreasonable, and I'll do my best not to be."

Regan looked sideways at him, and seemed to accept that he meant it. "I don't know," she admitted. "I thought maybe a fresh pair of eyes – but there's only half an investigation here. And I never was a detective. I can't help feeling though – these transcripts … " She took a deep breath. " Edward Walters scares the hell out of me. But he doesn't sound like, in these transcripts, he doesn't sound like … "

"He doesn't sound like he's the one who hurt Mary," McCoy said heavily.

"No," Regan said. "So, Jack, who did?"

McCoy shook his head. "We've been running full tilt down the wrong trail. Partly my fault."

"So what do we do now?" Regan asked, and then blushed a little. "I mean, what do you do. I mean – I mean I didn't mean to presume – "

"I know what you mean," McCoy said, giving her his best reassuring smile and watching her relax and smile back, just like every witness or juror he'd used that smile on in the last twenty years. "And it's a good question." He looked back at the papers spread across the desk. "You're right – there is only half the investigation here. So 'what we do now' is look at the other half of the investigation. You got plans for the rest of the day?"

"No," Regan said, clearly taken aback.

"You do now. Call your cops. They can give us a lift to the 1-6." McCoy looked at the files on the desk a moment longer, stirring through them with one finger. "I think this case is overdue for a fresh approach."

"What's that?" Regan asked. "What approach?"

McCoy began stacking the transcripts together. Regan hastened to help him, bundling up the files. McCoy pulled the file box across the table and tilted it for Regan to slide the files in.

"I think," McCoy told her, "that this case is overdue for a little  _teamwork_."


	28. Worth A Thousand Words

_Squad room_

_SVU_

_16th Precinct._

_5 pm_   _Saturday 4th November 2006_

* * *

 

" Elliot can't make it," Olivia said, shrugging out of her coat and handing it on the back of her chair. "Family."

"Can you fill us in instead, detective?" Jack McCoy asked, turning from his inspection of the case board. The tall woman beside him kept studying the board, head cocked to one side.

Olivia tried to place her, sure there was something familiar about the rangy build. It wasn't until the woman turned to reach for a file on the desk beside her that Olivia realised it was ADA Regan Markham in jeans and a sweatshirt, looking leaner and paradoxically less rumpled than she had when Olivia had seen her dressed in professional garb.  _ADA Markham, who McCoy just about bit my head off when he found out she'd drafted the stalking complaint against Walters._ Olivia could still remember the bite in McCoy's voice, the almost wild look in his eyes as he told them all:  _"That's the last thing she has to do with Walters except as a witness, is that clear?"_

McCoy didn't seem to have any objection to Regan's presence today, in fact as Olivia watched he turned to draw Regan's attention to something in the file she held. He still looked to Olivia like he could use a long holiday, but the terrible tightness in his face and bearing, the sense of barely contained strain, had eased.

"I can fill you in," Olivia said, concealing her surprise, surprise not only at Regan Markham's presence but at McCoy asking Olivia for a case update after his seeming determination to sideline her from the investigation. Ironically, it was Olivia who was making the most progress towards an arrest, based on the results of the federal surveillance. Jack McCoy's efforts to keep her out of the line of fire had put her closer to Walters than any of them. "Where do you want me to start?"

"ADA Markham hasn't had the benefit of previous briefings," McCoy said. "Why don't you take us all through it from the beginning?"

"Okay," Olivia said.

"But not yet," McCoy said. "We're waiting for one more."

Olivia looked around. She could see Cragen in his office, Finn and Munch were at their desks. "One more?"

"Sorry I'm late," Casey Novak said from the door, struggling with three file boxes stacked on top of each other. "Can someone help me with these boxes?"

"Here," Finn said, leaping forward.

"There's six more in the lift," Casey said.

Munch rolled his eyes and got up. "Time to fulfil sex role stereotyping," he said.

"Shall I sit here and file my nails?" Olivia asked, and fluttered her eyebrows.

"Why don't you do the dishes?" Munch suggested.

"Why don't you – "

"Okay!" Cragen said hastily from the doorway of his office. " Olivia, why don't you help Munch. Casey, just put those over here."

"Thanks," Casey said, dumping her file boxes on the table Cragen indicated.. "Sorry I'm so late, Jack. I was down at the hospital when you called so I didn't get the message until I turned on my phone. They took Mary off sedation and I wanted to wait for a while."

"How is she doing?' McCoy asked.

Casey shook her head. "No change. Well, her mother swears Mary squeezed her hand about two hours after they stopped the drugs, but no-one else saw it."

"You think it was wishful thinking," Cragen said, not making it a question. Out of the corner of her eye Olivia saw McCoy rub his forehead as if in pain, grimacing.

Casey shrugged, chewing her lower lip. "She's just so still," she said at last. "Except for the respirator. She's just so still. The doctors say … they say there's no way of knowing, but she's just so still, it's like she's already – already – " She bit back the word. "But what do I know, right, I'm no medical professional?" Her attempt at a cheerful smile wavered and she turned quickly and strode to the case board, standing with her back to the squad room, shoulders very straight, as if defying them to notice she was crying.

Olivia took a step forwards but McCoy held up a hand to stop her. Olivia watched as he went to stand beside Casey, the two prosecutors studying the board, side by side Casey folded her arms and hunched her shoulders. After a moment, McCoy said something to her too quietly for Olivia to hear and touched Casey's arm gently. Casey unfolded her arms and covered his hand with her own.

They turned back to face the others together. "Detective Benson," McCoy said. "Can you fill us all in now?"

Olivia nodded. "No problem."

It didn't take long. There wasn't that much to tell. When she'd finished going through the lack of evidence they had against Walters or anybody for the attack on Mary Firienze, and the case they were making against him for Annie Levy's murder, there was a moment of quiet as they all thought about how much work there was still to do.

"I'll be in Judge Koehler's chambers 8 am Monday to revisit bail," McCoy said. "With the new evidence, I should be able to swing remand on the Levy case."

"Koehler, the defendant's friend?" Casey asked.

"The evidence is strong, the chance of conviction is good. The risk to the community is apparent," McCoy said. "I think I can make even Kohler see the light." He sighed, rubbed his hand over his mouth. "But I am beginning to think that Ms Carmichael's opinion is correct."

"That Walters didn't hurt Mary?" Olivia said.

"You've read the transcripts, detective? What do you think?"

"I think Abbie is right," Olivia said. "I don't know how we can be dealing with two different criminals who coincidentally have exactly the same M.O. But I think we are. The only other explanation is that Walters is so smart he is deliberately duping us with admissions about Levy and pretended innocence about Mary."

"Where's the percentage for him in that?" Finn asked. "I mean, Levy died. We make him on Levy, that's the ball game."

"And in my opinion, we have made him on Levy," McCoy said. "So who do we make on Mary?"

"Well," Casey said, with a gesture to the stack of file boxes she had brought with her, "I've been going through Mary's cases. What we have here is all the cases where she got a conviction and the defendant is now at liberty."

"That's like a thousand perps to run down!" Finn said.

"I brought everything," Casey said. "Even the penny ante stuff from her first six months. But we can start with the high percentage cases and leave the flashers for last. That box – the one on the end, at the bottom – that's where to start."

"Let's go, John," Finn said.

"Ah, old-school police work," Munch said sourly. "Eye strain, back-ache – the sweetest joys of our career."

"What do you need from the DA's Office, detective?" McCoy asked Olivia.

"Right now?" Olivia asked, and shrugged. "We've got no-one to search, no-one to arrest."

"Do you mind if I go through the files?" Regan Markham asked. "I'd like to get up to speed."

"Are you on this case now?" Olivia asked with a glance at Casey.

"I have a vested interest," Regan said.

" Casey will second chair," McCoy said. "I'm sorry, Regan, but I'll need someone with experience from the Special Victims Bureau."

"I know," Regan said. "I'm not complaining. I'd just like to be in the loop." She shrugged. "I'm good at filing. Plenty of experience at that. And also making lists." She paused, then brightened. "And coffee. Making coffee. Lots of experience."

"Don't believe her," McCoy said, theatrically conspiratorial. "Her coffee is caffeinated sludge."

"And next time yours will be caffeinated sludge with  _arsenic_ ," Regan said, and then froze, looking at McCoy as if she was worried she'd gone too far.

McCoy laughed. "You wouldn't be the first ADA with reason to poison me," he said, "and I'm still here. Come on. Let's you and me go through the witness statements while Casey earns her salary making up a forensics summary for me."

Three hours later, all seven cops and lawyers were tired and hungry.

"Saturday night in the squad room!" Munch said. "Again! Whenever I start wondering if my charming personality is to blame for my lack of luck with the ladies I think of my working hours, and my self-esteem is restored."

"Should we order in?" Olivia said. "Or pack it in?"

"I gotta go, Liv," Finn said. "I'm sorry, but I'm going to be a homicide victim if I'm late tonight."

"Hot date?" Munch asked with interest.

" Ken's boyfriend's mother's birthday." Finn said, and rolled his eyes. "Gotta do it."

"Go," Cragen said. "Go!"

"I could eat," Casey said as Finn left. "Italian?"

"Chinese." Munch said.

"Pizza?" Olivia said.

"And still, it's so hard to see why we can't break this case," Cragen said deadpan. Regan Markham cracked up first, followed by Olivia and then McCoy, and then they were all laughing.  _With a faint tinge of hysteria,_  Olivia thought, wiping her eyes, but the easing of tension in the room was almost palpable.

"Pizza all round," McCoy said, reaching for the phone. "Got a number?"

Olivia tossed him a menu. "You buying?"

"Come up with one solid clue before dinner gets here and I will," McCoy retorted.

Olivia took that challenge in the spirit McCoy had issued it, and did her best, but in fact the solid clue was found well after dinner and not by Olivia.

Regan, who had finished with the case files and was sorting through the boxes Olivia had brought back from One Hogan Place filled with the contents of Mary's office, looked up from the desk where she was sitting. "Hey, that witness," she said. "The woman with the kid? Who saw the couple?"

"The tan-coat blue-hat couple?" Casey said. "Our potential witnesses who  _no-one_  can find?"

"It was a blue hat?" Regan asked.

"Oh yes," Olivia said. "I spent two hours with her and a sketch artist – Munch must've sung the yellow car song a thousand times to her son – "

"It's a  _red_ car Munch corrected. "The Wiggles have a big  _red_ car."

"Whatever colour the fucking car is," Olivia said, "the coat was tan, the hat was blue."

"Blue like this one?" Regan said, holding up a photo.


	29. Teamwork

They crowded round Regan, looking at the photo she held. It showed two women smiling into the sunlight. One of them was Mary Firienze with her hair ruffled by a breeze, scarf pulled up over her chin. The other had long blonde hair falling over her shoulders and the same triangular smile that Mary wore.

And a blue velveteen hat pulled down to her ears.

"It's a blue hat, alright," Munch said. "And there couldn't be more than two or three million blue hats in America, so …"

"Okay," Regan said, trying not to feel intimidated by the fact that an experienced detective, SVU, former homicide, was dismissing her idea. "But how many women wearing blue hats did Mary Firienze know? I don't have a blue hat. I've never owned a blue hat. Blue's a difficult colour to wear."

"Not that difficult," Casey Novak said.

"Do you have a blue hat?" Olivia Benson asked, taking the picture. "This hat looks like the sketch, you know."

"No." Casey said. "Actually, I don't. I'm just saying."

McCoy reached across the desk and took the photo from Regan. "That's Mary's sister," he said softly.

"Her  _sister_?" Casey said. "I didn't know she had a sister. There's no sister at the hospital. Do you think her sister was going to see her that night? Did – "

"She's dead," McCoy said, cutting her off. "Her name was Carla. She was a few years older than Mary. She was murdered about ten years ago when they both lived in Florida." He looked down at the picture for a moment, ran his finger over the faces of the two women. "This picture was taken the year before. They came home for Christmas, came home early, and drove up the coast for a couple of weeks."

Regan held out her hand for the picture and after a moment McCoy gave it back. She studied the two women, their glorious smiles, the wind-whipped roses in their cheeks.  _One dead, one fighting for her life._

_One down, one to go_ , she thought, and felt as if her blood had literally run cold at the thought, trickling icy beneath her skin.  _Where the hell did that come from?_

"What happened?" she asked McCoy. "To Carla Firenze?"

"Never solved," McCoy said. "The police liked her boyfriend, but he had a solid alibi, and they never found any other lead."

"Are we sure she's dead?" Olivia said. "Because, put sunglasses on her and cut her hair, and that could be the woman in the sketch. Here." She pawed through the papers on her desk and pulled out a copy. Regan tried to see it but couldn't get a good look as Olivia passed it to Munch. "See?"

"That  _is_  pretty good resemblance," Munch said. "Not just to the hat."

"What are you thinking, that she faked her death ten years ago, and came back to New York to visit Mary last week?" McCoy said. "Why?"

"Witness protection," Olivia and Casey said simultaneously.

"If she's in witness protection," Casey went on, "and she came back to see Mary – "

"Maybe who she's in protection from found out – " Olivia suggested.

"And tried to get Mary to tell them where to find her?" Casey finished.

" Mr McCoy, you've got the best contacts with the Feds," Cragen said. "Can Ms Carmichael find anything out about the witness protection program?"

McCoy shook his head. "I'll place the call," he said, "but unless they've gotten a loss less cautious recently I doubt they'll tell  _her_  anything, let alone me."

"I can make a couple of calls," Olivia said. "I think I have some un-burnt bridges still."

"I'm going to the hospital," Casey said. " Mrs Firenze is probably still there. She might know something."

"Can I come with you?" Regan asked. "I'd like – I'd like to see Mary. If that's okay."

"Sure, " Casey said, looking a little surprised. "Come on. We can share the same cops for the ride."

"I'll call you, Jack," Regan said, and grabbed her coat. "You've got protection too?" she asked Casey as she followed the senior ADA towards the door.

"The joys of an overprotective boss," Casey said. "I thought about telling Jack I didn't need baby-sitting but with Jack McCoy it pays to pick and choose your battles."

"Does that help?" Regan asked.

"I'll let you know," Casey said with a grin, pushing the elevator call button. "I didn't know you knew Mary," she said as they stepped through the elevator doors.

"I don't," Regan said. "Just to say hello to, really. But I saw her that day. In the morning, at the courthouse, she was arraigning Walters right after my dockets and I – I just said hello, that's all, she caught a bad bounce. And I thought I should give her a call and suggest coffee or a drink or something. And then – and then."

"And then," Casey agreed, with a sympathetic smile.

"I don't know what to do," Regan admitted. "I don't know how to feel about it. I feel like it's impertinent to be upset, when she wasn't a friend to me like she was to you. Is that stupid?"

"It's a little screwy," Casey said. Regan looked down, abashed. "I'm teasing you, Regan," Casey said quickly, her voice kind. "It sounds honest, to me."

The ride to the hospital passed mostly in silence. Casey Novak looked out the window, lost in her own thoughts, and Regan watched Casey as the lights of the New York night streaked her face in neon, pink and blue, green and orange.

_She's not what I expected._

Casey was the first really senior prosecutor besides McCoy that Regan had spent any time with. She was as groomed and polished as the young lawyers who had surrounded Regan in Fraud but beneath it Regan sensed something that those young lawyers didn't share.

_I expected a more experienced Qiao_   _Chen, a smarter Erica_   _Alden, an older Mary_   _Firienze_

_But she's more like a better dressed Jack_   _McCoy_

Never mind the good haircut, the clothes, the grooming.  _She dresses like the rest of them_ , Regan thought,  _but I bet she's a bare-knuckle brawler like McCoy when she needs to be._

_Not a woman to mess with._

Regan followed Casey into the hospital, the familiar smell of antiseptic overlaying blood and urine making her wrinkle her nose. She'd only told Casey half the truth when she said that she had been uncertain whether she knew Mary well enough to come visit her in the hospital.

There had been a time when she hadn't even noticed the smell in hospital waiting rooms. There had been a time when they were one more part of her beat – but that had been a time before she had spent long months as a patient. Now her skin crawled even walking through the doors. High Dependency Care was worse – the smell, the sound of the machines, the hushed voices – and Regan felt her heart racing and her palms sweating as she followed Casey down the corridor.  _It's not me, it's not me, it's not me_ , she told herself.  _Not me, not me, not me._

Mary's parents were still by her bedside, despite the hour.  _Because they think she could wake up any minute,_  Regan thought.  _It takes a little while before they give that up._ Mary's father was holding her hand in both his, just sitting. Mary's mother was a little further away from the bed, turned so she wasn't looking directly at the motionless form of her daughter or at the machines that sustained her life.

The hiss and thump of the respirator raised the hair the back of Regan's neck. She rubbed her arms, trying to subdue gooseflesh. That sound … she heard it sometimes on the edge of sleep.  _Not really a nightmare_. Just a noise that her rational mind knew she ought not to be able to remember, sounding softly in the dark, bringing her sharply back to full wakefulness with her heart pounding and her body bathed in cold sweat, the taste of plastic in her mouth.  _Hiss, thump. Hiss, thump._

Regan swallowed hard and pushed the thought away as Casey went to each of Mary's parents in turn, greeting them quietly. Regan could tell Casey had spent a lot of time at the hospital from the easy familiarity she had with Mr and Mrs Firienze.

"This is Regan Markham from our office," Casey said. "She wanted to come and see Mary."

"I'm sure Mary appreciates it, Regan," Mr Firienze said.

"Maybe Regan could sit with Mary while I talk to you two about the investigation for a few minutes," Casey suggested. "We could go down to the cafeteria."

"Well …" Mrs Firienze said. "I guess that would be okay. You'll call the nurse if anything happens, won't you?"

"I will," Regan assured her. "I promise."

She took Mr Firienze's place by the bed as Casey ushered Mary's parents out into the hall.

The faintest golden stubble bristled on Mary's scalp around the thick black sutures that stitched across and across her head. Her face was pale and pinched, lips cracked around the tube that kept her breathing. Regan took her hand, dry and cold.

" Mary?" she said. "It's Regan. Regan Markham. From Trials. I just came to see how you are."

She paused as if Mary would answer, then felt silly when the only response was the rhythmic hiss of the respirator. Could Mary hear her? Would it make a difference if she could?  _Hiss, thump._

"I figured you and me should get together and have a drink some time," Regan said. "We'll do that when you wake up."

_Hiss, thump,_  the respirator said.  _Hiss, thump. Hiss, thump_.

"We're waiting for you to wake up. Everyone's waiting for you to wake up."

_Hiss, thump. Hiss, thump._

"We're going to get the guy who hurt you. Jack McCoy's prosecuting the case himself. The detectives at the 16th are all on it."

_Hiss, thump._

"It'd be good if you could wake up, though. Mary? We're all hoping you wake up soon."

"Regan," Casey said from the door. "C'mon."

"Bye, Mary," Regan said. "See you soon."

She shook hands with Mr and Mrs Firienze and waited in the hall while Casey said her goodbyes.

"What did they say?" she asked Casey as they walked towards the exit.

The senior prosecutor shook her head. "It's a dead end," she said.

"Why, what did they – "

" _Leave_  it, Regan," Casey said. "It's a dead end."


	30. Dead Ends

_McMurty's Bar_

_11 pm_   _Saturday 4th November 2006_

* * *

 

_A dead end._

Casey swirled the melting ice in her scotch.  _That's one way of putting it. Not perhaps the most tactful._

The thought brought back the look on Mrs Firienze's face when Casey had said the name  _Carla_ , brought back the depth of the distress she'd caused two parents already struggling with unbearable grief.

_Goddamn this job._

She thought about ordering another drink but three was close to her limit. Instead she sipped at the ice-melt in her glass, trying to put off the moment when she'd have to got out the front and find her cops and go home.

_Goddamn this job._

_I found her!_  Mrs Firienze had said.  _I found her!_

_Oh, goddamn this job._

" Casey?"

Casey turned on her stool to see Jack McCoy regarding her quizzically. " Jack," she said, and turned back to the bar, swirling the ice in her glass around and around.

"Saturday night – shouldn't you be out living it up somewhere?" McCoy asked, taking the stool next to her. "With what's-his-name?"

Casey grinned. "You know his name perfectly well."

"They never last, Casey, why would I waste the effort?" McCoy said.

" Michael," Casey said. "His name was Michael." Then she realised what she'd given away as McCoy chuckled. "Okay, okay. Michael and I – very much past tense. Don't gloat. It's unbecoming."

"I'm not gloating," McCoy said, sounding unexpectedly sincere. "Although I would like to point out that I never did like him."

"Well, that was good taste and judgement on your part, and poor taste and judgement on mine," Casey said. "Do you ever think that maybe there's no-one else out there who can ever understand what it's like for us? For prosecutors, I mean. No-one outside One Hogan Place?"

"All the time," McCoy said.

Casey snorted. "Yes, I suppose  _you_  do." She sipped at the ice melt in her glass.

"Want another?" McCoy asked.

"No," Casey said. "I'm pushing it already."

"Soda?"

She thought about it. "Yeah, okay," she said at last. McCoy signalled the bartender.

"How'd it go at the hospital?" he asked her.

Casey ran her hands through her hair and bowed her head. "Real fucking bad," she said to the last tiny piece of ice in her drink. When she felt McCoy's hand warm between her shoulder blades her nose prickled with the threat of tears. She bit her lip hard. "This  _fucking_  goddamn job," she said at last. "Their daughter was upstairs in intensive care only breathing because of the tube down her throat and there's me sitting in the cafeteria asking them about their oldest daughter and if it's possible she never actually died and Mary's mother  _looks_ at me, and says –  _I found her._ "

_Found her, with her head all beaten in, and the blood, her eyes so open, so open – of course she's dead! What are you thinking?_

"This goddamn job," Casey said again. "The things we do to people because it's the job. Because we tell ourselves it's the job."

"It  _is_ the job," McCoy said. "You had to ask the question. Casey. Come on." He squeezed her shoulder. "There's always pain for the families. We're a part of it, because we're part of the process. But the cause of it is the criminal who started the whole thing.  _They're_  to blame. Not you."

The bartender set two glasses of soda and lime in front of them. "Just because I've had enough doesn't mean you have to join me," Casey said.

"I came in to settle my tab," McCoy said, raising his voice to include the bartender in the remark. "But you looked like you could use the company."

"Your tab is clear, Mr McCoy," the bartender said. "Your young lady covered it when she picked you up the other night."

McCoy looked taken aback, an expression Casey thought was probably mirrored on her own face. "I didn't know you had a 'young lady', Jack," she said, trying to keep her voice light.

"I don't," McCoy said, but he didn't explain further. "So, the Carla-Firienze-in-witness-protection idea is a wash?"

"Well and truly," Casey said. She sipped her soda. "I didn't even know she had a sister. She never mentioned her. You knew her pretty well, Jack."

"I did," McCoy said. "At one time."

" Olivia Benson thought you might have been her mystery date," Casey said. "The friend she was meeting after work, that she told Elliot Stabler about."

"I wasn't," McCoy said. "I would have said.  _You know_  I would have said."

"I know," Casey said. "I told her."

" Mary and I – "

"It's not my business, Jack," Casey said quickly.

"That's true," McCoy said. "But I was just going to say. It wasn't recent. Or serious."

Casey chewed her lip. Angels would probably fear to tread where she was about to rush in, and for a moment she wondered if she should think better of it. _Fortune favours the brave_ , she thought.  _And I have plenty of Dutch courage just at the moment._ "The way you've been, Jack, it's no surprise that Olivia thought it might be more recent. More serious."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" McCoy asked tetchily.

"You haven't been treating this case exactly as normal," Casey said. "And don't give me that – it's one of the family, no holds barred, no stone unturned crap. I _know_ what that looks like. You're taking this personally." She sipped her drink, wishing just at the moment that it was stronger than soda. "I was surprised to get your message today. I was even more surprised to hear you say I was in the second chair."

"I owe you an apology," McCoy said. Casey glanced at him and saw a sheen of sweat on his brow. He was silent a moment, muscles working along his jaw. Casey opened her mouth to speak but McCoy lifted the fingers of one hand to stop her. "Let me finish," he said thickly, and cleared his throat. "I should have – should have stayed away from the case. I certainly should never have pushed you out of it. I can't – don't ask me to explain, Casey."

"Not good enough, Jack," Casey said, mouth one tenth of a second faster than her better sense. When he glared at her she had no choice but to glare back, chin up.  _I won't be bullied, Jack_   _McCoy, not even by you. Because the first time I back down, back down from you or **anybody** , that'll be the end of me._

"I didn't want to see you in the hospital again," McCoy said at last. "Leave it there, will you, Casey?"

"Yeah, okay," Casey said. "But you're not going to pull any of that crap again, right?"

"I will try not to" McCoy said. He eyed her empty glass. "You want another? Maybe a real one?"

Casey considered. "Better not," she said. "Not tonight. Can I have a rain check?"

"Of course," McCoy said with a lazy smile that made Casey flush a little. "For you, Casey, always."

_Casey, Casey_ , Casey chided herself as she headed for the door.  _If you are second chair on this prosecution you are going to be working side-by-side with JackMcCoy for a while. Don't complicate matters. Don't get stupid._

_Go home sober, and alone._

That was always good advice. It was advice Casey gave herself on a regular basis.

_Try taking it this time_ , she told herself, waving to the uniformed officers who were watching over her tonight.

On the off chance McCoy was watching her from inside the bar, she put an extra swing in her step as she headed for the car.


	31. Revisiting Bail

_Office of EADA Jack_   _McCoy_

_10th Floor_

_One Hogan Place_

_7.00 am Monday 6th November 2006_

* * *

 

"I'm going to have to pull my teams off Edward Walters," Abbie Carmichael said. "The wiretaps over the weekend – the transcripts make it just impossible to keep it up."

"I know," McCoy said. "You can't make him fit for Mary Firienze no matter how hard you try."

"I know it doesn't make sense, Jack," Abbie said, and McCoy thought she looked relieved.  _Probably thought I'd argue_ , McCoy thought. "But I can't see it any other way."

"I'm revisiting bail, or hopefully remand, with Koehler in an hour," McCoy said. "Which may make the question moot. But I agree with you. Walters looks like a cracking good suspect up until you read the transcripts and then the whole thing falls apart."

"Do the police have another suspect?" Abbie asked.

"Not as yet. There's a couple who might be witnesses, but no-one can ID them. And there's Mary's mystery friend who she was supposed to be meeting that night. But no other leads. And nobody can get past the problem of two  _unconnected_  crimes with such identical signatures."

"Keep me in the loop," Abbie said, getting up. "You owe me, Jack."

"I do," McCoy said. "I know I do." He stood as well and walked her to the door. "I'll call you."

"See that you do." Abbie gave him a quick hug.

As she headed for the lifts Regan Markham was coming the other way. She hesitated at the door of Alex's old office, looking inside. McCoy knew she would see Qiao Chen's personal effects, his photos, his calendar and the pot-plant he'd brought in on Friday.

"Regan," he called, and she turned. "You'll have to share for the rest of this case," he told her. "When Colleen gets in, ask her to get on to maintenance and get an extra desk moved in."

"Okay," Regan said. "Are you going to see Justice Koehler?"

" _We're_ going to see Justice Koehler," McCoy corrected. Regan smiled and coloured a little, clearly pleased to be included. "Have you handled an application for reconsideration of bail?"

"Not from this side," Regan said. "A couple of times in Fraud when the defendants wanted bail reduced. Not requesting reconsideration."

"The principles are the same," McCoy said. "Here's a copy of the blue-back. Read it over before we leave."

The way Regan poured over it, McCoy was sure she had it memorised by the time they were due to leave for the courthouse. When he quizzed her on it as they walked she was word perfect on the content, although he had to remind her of the precedents he'd be citing in oral argument. A couple were obscure, but one was so obvious he was surprised Regan didn't know it.

"Are you sure you passed your bar exam?" he joked as they jogged up the stairs to the courthouse, and then regretted his levity when she turned deep red and began to stammer. "Relax, Regan," he hastened to add. "Everybody forgets the occasional precedent."

She was still flustered when they reached Koehler's chambers. McCoy thought fleetingly of making another reassuring remark but was distracted by the entry of Larry Heinlin. With his prematurely grey hair, Heinlin was a striking figure in the courtroom. McCoy knew that he made an impression on jurors. Both times they had faced off across the aisle McCoy had been the victor, but Heinlin had an impressive record against other prosecutors. He seemed to specialise in defending men accused of sex crimes, and he'd taken Casey Novak out the back of the metaphorical woodshed once or twice.

"Your honour," Heinlin said, barely in the door and making his case, "this is yet another example of the unjustified persecution of my client by a DA's Office with some kind of axe to grind – "

"Does Mr Heinlin think we pick random citizens out for persecution?" McCoy asked. "Why would we have an 'axe to grind' against his client?"

"Don't ask me," Heinlin said. "Look into your own heart for your motives."

"Very glib, Mr Heinlin," Justice Koehler said.

"Your honour, it's undeniable that after my client was released on bail by your order he was shortly thereafter rearrested – and held to the limit of the allowable time before arraignment – on a charge of felony stalking which you yourself, your honour, found too tenuous to even warrant a bail bond."

"The people have every intention of bring those charges," McCoy said. "We've been delayed by the fact that one of the victims is in a  _coma_."

"That's not the whole story though, is it, Mr McCoy? You think – in the absence of all evidence – that my client is responsible for  _putting_ ADA Firienze in that coma. That's why you arrested him on these flimsy pretences."

"Is that the case, Mr McCoy?" Koehler asked.

"Your honour, at one time Mr Walters  _was_ a suspect in  _five_  sexual assaults, which number the detectives of Manhattan SVU have now revised to  _four_ ," McCoy said. "That is quite true. But despite Mr Heinlin's theatrics, this is a very straightforward matter. You released Mr Walters ROR at his arraignment for the first degree rape and assault of Ms Levy because you assessed the probability of a conviction as limited. The People are now able to demonstrate that Mr Walters gave us a false alibi, and we have a number of highly incriminating statements made by Mr Walters since his release. The probability of conviction is now much higher. As well, as your honour will see, the DA's Office has amended the charges to include felony murder, since Ms Levy has tragically died as the result of her assault. The severity of the charge, the risk to the community, the increased likelihood of conviction –"

"Now just hold on," Heinlin said. "Let's look at this in a little more detail and not get carried away by Mr McCoy's rhetoric. These so-called incriminating statements – has Mr McCoy ever heard of Rosario?"

"They are on their way to your office at this very moment, Mr Heinlin," McCoy said. "But if you can't wait that long – Regan?"

Regan Markham flipped open her briefcase and pulled out the file McCoy had given her to carry. "Here."

Heinlin took it from her and flipped it open. "These are  _federal_  wiretaps."

"Legally obtained under a  _federal_  warrant," McCoy said. "But turned over to the Manhattan DA's Office when it became clear that they contained evidence of a crime committed in our jurisdiction."

"A warrant obtained on what grounds?" Koehler asked.

"You would have to ask the USDA," McCoy said blandly. "If Mr Heinlin wants to challenge admissibility, he can go right ahead at the Rosario hearing, but this is not the place. We are here this morning about  _bail_. The circumstances have clearly changed, your honour. Under the circumstances, the People ask for remand against this defendant."

"Your honour – " Heinlin started to say, but Koehler raised his hand.

"I've heard – and read enough. Remand is ordered. Bench warrant for Mr Walters is  _issued_. But Mr McCoy – I hear the rustle of an envelope being pushed. I better not hear it again."

McCoy nodded, letting Koehler think he had accepted the reprimand. Koehler was a judge –  _one of many judges_ , McCoy thought – who had an internal need to be proven right. McCoy knew from years of experience that proving such a judge wrong on the law or wrong on the facts was a tricky business that could hurt a case even more than it hurt the judge's ego. He made an appropriately chastened expression so Koehler would be satisfied, and didn't let himself grin with satisfaction until he was out in the corridor.

"He can't think – " Regan said, and McCoy raised a hand to stop her, already dialling a number on his cell.

"Captain. Pick up Walters. His bail is revoked and he's remanded. You're welcome." He hung up and turned to Regan. "You can come and go without police on your back again," he said.

"Yeah, that's great," Regan said absently. "Listen, Jack, what Heinlin said – is he going to try and run that at trial? The DA's vendetta angle?"

"Probably," McCoy said. He started down the hall to the exit. "Remember what Rinkle said. 'If the law is against you, argue the facts. If the facts are against you, argue the law. If both the law and the facts are against you – ' "

"Pound on the table and yell like hell," Regan finished, a little breathless as she hurried to keep up with him. McCoy slowed his pace a little. "Heinlin's going to pound the table? What are you going to do about it?"

"Nothing," McCoy said. He held the courthouse door for her and then followed her out into the weak November sunlight. "We have the law and the facts on our side. The jury will see that when it comes to trial."

"Are you sure?" Regan asked.

"Of course," McCoy said, grinning. "Because I'll  _make_  them."


	32. Mirror, Mirror

_10th Floor_

_One Hogan Place_

_2 pm_   _Monday 6th November 2006_

* * *

 

"Can you pass me the tap transcript from last Thursday?" Regan asked Chen. She waited a moment for him to answer, and when he didn't she turned in her chair. "Qiao?"

He kept writing, to all intents and purposes too deeply involved in his work to hear her.  _Sure_ , Regan thought. With two desks in the tiny office she would have brushed up against him if she'd taken too deep a breath.

"Qiao!" she said sharply.

"Yeah, what?" he asked, putting his pen down with an exaggerated show of annoyance at the interruption.

"Can you pass me the tap transcript from last Thursday?" Regan asked again.

"I'm using it right now," Chen said.

"Okay," Regan said. "Can you tell me when you're done?"

"Sure," Chen said.

Regan turned back to her desk and leaned her head on her hand. McCoy had told her on the walk back from the courthouse that morning that he had promised Chen he wouldn't take him off the Walters case – the case that was now splitting into two, with the prosecution of Edward Walters for the rape and murder of Annie Levy on one side and the investigation into the rape and assault of Mary Firienze by 'person or persons unknown' on the other. With Casey Novak in the second chair and two junior prosecutors also attached, the bar table was going to get crowded.

_Especially if Qiao_   _Chen is going to keep up the cold shoulder_.

Well, the transcripts could wait. It wasn't as if the trial was calendered for the immediate future. Regan had more pressing tasks. She pulled another case file towards her, checking the name and docket number.  _People v Lee_   _O'Malley and McKillip, Armed Robbery._  She flipped open to the deposition of O'Malley's alibi witness and found the police report. Taking fresh legal pad and a pen out of her box, she began to take notes.

She had filled two pages when a voice startled her.

"Regan, have you got Berenski there?" McCoy asked from the doorway. She turned in her chair, accidentally knocking Chen with her elbow. He swore.

"Sorry. Yes. Here," Regan said, thumbing through the files on her desk. "Here it is."

"Have you done the brief on the discovery problems?" McCoy asked.

"In the back. Sorry, it isn't typed yet."

"Don't worry, I'll get one of the legal secretaries to do it." McCoy said. "What are you working on, Qiao?"

"I'm tracking the affirmative statements that Walters made about the rapes," Chen said. "Cross-referencing with the transcripts. I've already caught two direct lies he told the police when they interviewed him."

"Good work," McCoy said. Chen smiled, and darted a look at Regan.  _To make sure I noticed McCoy praising him._

Chen seemed certain that he and Regan were in a DA's Office version of Survivor, slugging it out to see which one of them got to stay. His surprise when she had come back from the courthouse with McCoy this morning had told Regan that he had believed up until then he was her  _replacement_ , not  _colleague_.

She hoped he would be proved wrong on both counts.

_Because let's face it, if it comes down to McCoy picking one of us to stay, Qiao Chen has a much glossier CV than I do._

_He's just plain glossier all over._

McCoy was talking to her and Regan realised she had lost half of what he had said to her while she worried about not making a good enough impression.

_Goddamn, girl_ ,  _head in the game_. Creaky old man's voice giving her advice – good or bad, Regan had never had anything to compare it to.

"Sorry, Jack," she said. "What was that?"

"I said Casey told me your theory about Carla Firienze didn't work out," he repeated.

"I wouldn't dignify it by calling it a 'theory'," Regan said. "Just – a coincidence. And then when Detective Benson said the picture looked like the sketch …"

"It did," McCoy said. "I thought the resemblance was striking."

"I didn't see it," Regan said. "I didn't get a good look at the sketch." She shrugged. "It was a bad hunch. We're no further forward."

"They're going through all Mary's old cases over at SVU," McCoy said. "There's a good chance they'll turn up a lead, but it's a slow process. Even once they eliminate the ones still in jail, that's a lot of alibis to check. And that's assuming that no-one  _acquitted_  holds a grudge for being prosecuted in the first place."

"Trail gets cold and then colder," Regan said.

"How are you going with those files?" McCoy asked

"I don't think we have a problem breaking O'Malley's alibi. I'll write these questions up for the Ds who worked the case and send them down. You've got Berenski now. I've got to prepare for prepping our witnesses for Charman – that's the carjacking – they're due tomorrow. I should be ready."

"Good. If you get done in time, you can go on down to the one-six if you want. Give them a hand ruling defendants out – or in." McCoy raised his eyebrows at her. "Trails get cold. And colder."

Regan finished her deposition preparation in record time. She was stacking her files in her file box and pulling on her coat well before six.

Chen was still going through the transcripts. Regan hesitated.

"You want to come to the one-six, Qiao?" Regan asked. "I'm sure McCoy wouldn't mind."

Chen looked up. "Nice try," he said. "But I'm not falling for it."

Regan felt a powerful urge to smack him but she restrained herself. "Suit yourself," she said instead, and headed for the elevator.

The SVU squad room at the 16th Precinct was still busy when she arrived. Elliot Stabler and Olivia Benson were at their desks on the phone. Regan could hear Benson asking someone where he'd been on the night of 25 October. John Munch was sitting at a computer painstakingly reading from a pile of files and pecking away at the keyboard. From what Regan could see of the screen she could tell he was checking the status of felons in the system. As she watched he tossed a file into one of the piles beside him and picked up another.

Regan went over to him. "Can I help?" she asked.

"Do you know how to run an incarceration status search?" Munch asked, looking at her over the top of his glasses.

"No. But I've run about a thousand licence plates in my time. Is it similar?"

Munch rolled his chair back from the desk, stood up and gestured her towards the computer. When Regan stepped forward he seated her as theatrically as any high-class maitre-de. "Make yourself at home," he said. "Please."

Regan laughed, and started familiarising herself with the database.

She had made quite a dent in the pile of files beside her when a paper carton of Chinese food appeared under her nose. The smell made her aware of how hungry she was and her stomach growled audibly. Turning in her chair, she saw it was Jack McCoy who had snuck up behind her. He had a second container of food in his other hand.

"Hungry?" he asked, grinning.

"Starving," Regan said, taking the carton he offered her. McCoy took two sets of bamboo chopsticks from his jacket pocket and gave one to her. As Regan started eating McCoy propped himself against the desk beside her and opened his own dinner. "This is good, thanks," Regan said with her mouth full.

"Miss lunch again?" McCoy asked.

Regan thought about it. "Possibly?" she said at last.

McCoy raised his eyebrows but said nothing. "Find anything in those files?"

"A couple of potentials," Regan said. She reached the bottom of the container and scraped up the last scraps of food. "Cops will run them down." Tossing the empty container in the wastepaper basket, she sighed. "God, I needed that."

"I'm not surprised," McCoy said. "It's nearly ten."

"Really?" Regan said, surprised. "I didn't realise."

"Why don't you pack it in for the night," McCoy suggested. "C'mon. I'll walk you out."

"Yeah, okay." Regan grabbed her coat and briefcase as McCoy tossed his own takeaway container in the bin. She was following him to the door when a thought struck her. "Hang on," she said, "I just want to look at the sketch. I'll just be a minute."

Without waiting for his answer she hurried back to the case board. The sketches of the two missing witnesses had been pinned up near one end. Regan glanced at the one of the man in the tan coat but he didn't look familiar and she concentrated on the woman in the blue hat.

"You see why Olivia said she looks like Carla in that picture," McCoy said, studying the sketch over her shoulder.

"Yeah," Regan said. What with the hat and the sunglasses, the sketch only really showed the woman's nose and mouth. Regan lifted her hand, ran her fingers lightly over the sketch of the woman who might hold the answers they sought.

_Hiss, thump_.

"Regan? You ready?" McCoy asked.

Regan shivered. She could taste plastic.  _Hiss, thump._ "Hold on," she said. Her voice sounded strange in her ears.  _Hiss, thump._

"Regan?" McCoy said again. He put his hand on her shoulder. Regan felt it distantly, as if she were sleeping, as if the body he touched were deep under sedation in a hospital bed. "You okay?'

_Hiss, thump_. "Hold on," she said thickly.  _Hiss, thump._

Her fingers traced the features of the woman in the sketch, lingered over the mouth.  _I know that mouth_.

_Hiss, thump_.

_I've seen it._

_Hiss, thump._

And then Regan knew. She'd seen it just recently, lips chapped a little, plastic tube holding those lips open.  _Hiss, thump_.

"Oh my god Jack," she said. "That's  _Mary_."


	33. Quite Contrary

"What do you mean?" McCoy asked. For a second Regan didn't answer him. With his hand on her shoulder McCoy could feel her trembling. He closed what little distance was between them and put his other hand under her elbow. "Regan?"

"That's why it looks like Carla," Regan said urgently. "Because the sketch is of Carla's sister. That's  _Mary_ , Jack. Look at her mouth."

McCoy looked. For a moment he couldn't see it, and then Regan put her hand over the top half of the sketch, obscuring the sunglasses and the hat. "My god," he said. The resemblance was remarkable. McCoy couldn't believe he'd missed it.  _Because I couldn't see past the picture of Mary on the floor of the garbage room with tape wrapped around and around her head and over her mouth, that's why. Because I couldn't see Mary as the woman she was before this son -of-a-bitch got his hands on her._ "But – the witness saw a couple."

"She told Elliot she met a friend," Regan said.

" Mr Mystery Date," McCoy said. "We assumed he stood her up and that's why Walters was able to get her."

"We should have re-thought that when it became apparent it wasn't Walters," Regan said.

"Yes, we should," McCoy said grimly. He took a step to the side to study the ID sketch of the mystery man in the tan coat. With the benefit of new understanding, he saw a cold indifference in the eyes that stared out from the page. " Mary didn't come home alone. She came home with this guy."

" Jack, that son-of-a-bitch must have seen something. He walked her into the building and before she made it to her door she was grabbed. He knows who hurt her," Regan said, coming to stand next to him to look at the picture. She was still trembling. McCoy glanced at her and saw her jaw set, fists clenched. It was rage, he realised, rage so deep it had raised the veins in her temples and shortened her breath – even though she barely knew Mary Firienze.

He thought again of the pictures of Perry taken at the hospital: broken nose, split lips.  _Plenty of anger there,_  he thought.  _Maybe I **should**  call Seattle_

"Take it easy," he said. "Regan. Keep it separate. Look at the case in front of you."

"Yeah, okay," Regan said, sighing, turning away from the picture.

"This guy, he's not a previous defendant," McCoy said. "Because no ADA would describe anyone she prosecuted as a friend, or relied on them to see her home."

"Mr Mystery-fucking-date," Regan said. The anger in her voice was still palpable. "Hell of a date."

- _flickering blue cell-phone screen and the image of Mary with tape round and round her head, one leg twisted and bent beneath her –_

McCoy swallowed hard and shook his head a little to clear the image from his mind.  _Take it easy. Keep it separate._

"Who is he?" McCoy asked. "How did she know him? Why has be kept quiet?"

"I don't know," Regan said. "But I do know how to start finding out. Now we know this sketch is of someone  _Mary_ knew, not someone who belonged to the apartment block. First thing tomorrow the Ds can start showing this picture around One Hogan Place and the courthouse."

McCoy gave one last look at the sketch. "I hope it's a good enough resemblance for someone to recognise," he said. "Come on. Nothing to be done tonight. I'll call Cragen first thing in the morning." He put a hand on her shoulder and turned her away from the case board. Regan resisted for a moment, still staring at the sketch of Mr Mystery Date.

Whoever the man was, McCoy hoped Regan wouldn't run into him. The hard glare Regan was giving the picture raised the hair on the back of his neck.

"Leave it, Regan," he said. "Leave it for tomorrow."

Regan gave in to his urging and let him draw her towards the door.

"I dropped in to McMurty's on the weekend to settle my tab," McCoy said, looking for a change of subject. "Barman said you settled it for me the other night."

"Yeah," Regan said. She pushed the call button for the elevator. "I could just see the headline: Drunk EADA Dodges Bar Bill."

"What do I owe you?" McCoy asked, taking out his wallet.

She named the sum, adding "What were you drinking, Macallan rare?"

McCoy chuckled, taking out his wallet. "Hardly. I run my tab month-to-month."

"Oh," Regan said, colouring slightly. "I should have realised." She took the notes he proffered and tucked them in her pocket without counting them.

"I appreciate you looking out for my reputation," McCoy told her.

"Well, what are pa- What are friends for?" Regan said.

"Still," McCoy said. He hesitated, then added: "I try to pay my debts – even the ones without a dollar value."

The elevator arrived and they got it. Regan pushed the button for street level. "Is that meant for me?" she asked. "ADA Fitzgerald told me you put your shoulder to the wheel for me over Perry."

McCoy almost said  _That's not what I meant_ , but he was the veteran of countless thousand cross-examinations and the defensive timbre of Regan's voice spoke to predatory instincts he could no more resist than he could fly. Without stopping to think about whether he was being wise, or  _kind_ , he said, "So don't you owe me the real story of what happened?"

"What do you mean?" Regan asked. The harsh lighting in the elevator gave her skin a grey cast.

"I saw the photos they took of Perry at the hospital. You beat him up pretty good."

Regan looked down at her feet. "Yeah," she said quietly.

"What happened? Not what you and the three musketeers told the grand jury. What happened?"

"You accusing me of perjury?" Regan flared.

"You're too smart to perjure yourself," McCoy said. "That, I've learned. I'm asking you a question." Regan chewed her lip, silent, and McCoy pushed an unfair advantage: "You  _owe_  me the truth, Regan."

The elevator reached the ground floor and the doors opened. McCoy didn't move, watching Regan as she stared at the floor.

"I hit him," she said at last. "More than I needed to. Less than he deserved."

"Is that a habit of yours?" McCoy asked, and Regan's head came up fast.

"You think it is?" she asked.

"I know a little bit about cops with tempers," McCoy said. "It's not often a one-time thing. What would I find if I asked Seattle for your jacket?"

The doors started to close. Regan stepped forward and stopped them. She turned back to face McCoy, colour high in her cheeks, eyes blazing. "Yeah, okay, you got me. That's it, I was a wrong cop, bully with a badge, that's why I left Seattle, I was running from my record."

She said it with absolute conviction, looking him in the right in the eye.

That was her mistake. McCoy was on the edge of believing her when he saw the light flicker across her eyes as her pupils flared and in that instant he knew she was lying.

"Regan," he started, not for the first time in his life realising a little too late that what might be smart tactics in cross-examination were stupid mistakes in conversation.  _Goddamn it, Jack, I'd like to for once talk to you without feeling like a witness for the defence!_ Sally Bell had said to him once. In fact, she'd tossed it over her shoulder as she stormed out the door. "Regan, I – "

"I'll see you tomorrow, Jack," Regan said. She turned on her heel and strode off, head up, shoulders square.

_That could have gone better,_  McCoy thought.


	34. Straw For The Bricks

_Squad room_

_SVU_

_16th Precinct._

_8 am_   _Tuesday 7th November 2006_

* * *

 

"Okay, listen up people," Captain Cragen said. "Gather round. We have a new direction for the investigation."

The detectives did as he asked, Elliot bleary-eyed and sipping coffee, Olivia chewing on a bagel.

"I had a call from the DA's Office this morning," Cragen said. Elliot snorted. "We all appreciate your sentiments, Elliot, but bear with me. Mr McCoy and Ms Markham think that the sketch of our mystery woman in the blue hat is a sketch of Mary Firienze."

"You're kidding!" Olivia said. She turned back to her desk and shuffled a copy of the sketch out of the papers spread across it. Frowning, she studied it. " Elliot, what do you think?"

He looked over her shoulder, taking the opportunity to steal a bite of her bagel. "Could be," he said at last. "Maybe."

"If it is," Olivia said, "then Mr Mystery Man in the Tan Coat – "

"Is also Mr Mystery Date," Finn said. "He's  _gotta_  know what happened in that building. He walked her into it. Between the  _front_  door and  _her_  door she got took. He  _musta_ seen something."

"So it's even more important to find him," Cragen said. "Now we have a new place to look. All four of you are taking the sketch of him today and showing it to every body who knew Mary or might have seen her on that day – friends, family, co-workers, around the courthouse. We've been looking for this man around the neighbourhood. Now it's possible that the only connection he had to the neighbourhood was Mary."

"On it," Elliot said, a microsecond before the general chorus. "This could be a solid lead," he added to Olivia, picking up his coat.

"It doesn't make sense," Olivia said, following him slowly towards the door.

"What do you mean?"

"This guy – him not coming forward – the timing – it just doesn't fit." Olivia shrugged. "If she was planning to meet him – and she must have been if she set the TiVo – why didn't she tell you the first time she talked to you? And then they go back to her place even though she was planning to be out?" She pressed the call button for the elevator, looked at the indicator board and pressed it again.

"I dunno, maybe she was planning to meet someone else, cancelled, met up with Mr Tan Coat?"

"Yeah, maybe," Olivia said. " Lot of coincidences."

"Let's find this guy and  _ask_  him," Elliot said, following Olivia into the elevator.

**_That's_** _easier said than done_ , Olivia thought.

And it was. Five hours later the four SVU detectives met up in the diner across the road from the courthouse, none with any news.

Munch and Finn had shown the sketch to Mary's family at the hospital, to the court officers and to the vendors around the courthouse. Olivia and Elliot had re-interviewed Mary's colleagues and had shown the picture right around One Hogan Place.

"No-one knows him, no-one's seen him." Olivia summarised.

"If Mary  _did_  know him, she didn't know him around here," Finn said. "Her mother said she thought he looked familiar, but not from Mary's life. She thought maybe she saw him on television or something."

"On the news?" Elliot asked.

"You know, he kind of looks like that guy," Olivia said. "On the show about the law firm?"

"You think?" Elliot said. "I dunno, to me these sketches all look like kinda like an all-purpose newsreader – the ones of white guys, anyway."

"I dunno," Finn said. "Point being, he's not Mary's steady boyfriend or the mother would have a better recollection. We left a copy with her in case it jogs her memory."

"Yeah, well, Mary didn't  _have_ a steady boyfriend." Olivia ran her hand through her hair. "So her parents don't know him, no-one at the courthouse recognises him, he's not someone she knows through work," she said. "I'm sorry, Elliot, the pieces don't go together. Where was she planning to be if not out with Mr Tan Coat? And why haven't we heard about it?"

"Are we sure she was planning to be out?" Munch said.

"She set the TiVo," Finn said. "Who sets the TiVo when they're going to be home?"

"Someone with a busy and impulsive social life," Munch said. "And when I say the words 'busy and impulsive social life', you have to admit Mary Firienze comes to mind."

"Those things are basically a big hard disk, aren't they?" Elliot asked.

"That records your viewing preferences for the cable companies to store for ever," Munch said. "And don't think that the next iteration of the Homeland Security Act won't give the government power to access that information. Then look out – choosing  _The Manchurian Candidate_  for your evening viewing could see you answering some difficult questions in a small room with a bright light."

"Yeah, okay, John, but my point is, when I create a file or change it on the home computer it records when I did it," Elliot said. "Like when I was reading Elizabeth's email she could tell I had done it because of the time stamps on the file."

"You read your daughter's email?" Munch asked, looking over his glasses at Elliot. "You should have gone into the F.B.I. not S.V.U. Do the words 'invasion of privacy' mean anything to you?"

"Yeah, and so do the words 'cyber-stalker'," Elliot said. "My point is, does the TiVo record  _when_  Mary set it?"

"I'll swing by One Police Plaza on my way back to the house," Olivia said, taking out her wallet. "I'll check it out with the techies. You okay to get a lift with these two?"

"I might have to shoot John if he starts up with another conspiracy theory," Elliot said.

"Man, you have to get in line," Finn said sourly.

As Olivia headed for the door she could hear Munch starting on a riff about prophets being without honour in their own country.

At One Police Plaza Julian Beck was delighted to explain the inner workings of TiVos to her. "It's not as simple as looking up the file properties on your PC," he said, "But it can be done. You see, whenever the TiVo creates an instruction to record the electro-static – "

"If I get you Mary's TiVo," Olivia interrupted, "can you tell me when she set it to record a particular show?"

"Sure!" Beck said enthusiastically. Then he lowered his voice conspiratorially. "You know, when I went to that workshop back in July – 'Interrogating Electrostatic Equipment In Evidence Collection Procedure' – some of the people around here implied I just wanted to get a weekend in Duluth – but I knew the technique would come in handy. Just bring me the TiVo, Officer Benson, and I'll make it tell you everything it knows."

"Okay," Olivia said. "I'll be back."

She headed for her car, dialling Casey Novak's number on her cell as she walked.

"I think I might need a warrant," Olivia said. She explained what she wanted to do.

"You shouldn't need one for the victim's possessions," Casey said, and Olivia heard her breath catch and knew Casey had registered the fact that she's just referred to Mary as 'the victim'. "But since we should dot every i on this one, get permission from her parents. Get them to sign a standard release. I'll fax one to the hospital for you, you can pick it up there."

The quick errand to drop by One Police Plaza ended up taking the rest of Olivia's working day. Once at the hospital she couldn't leave without spending some time with Mary and her parents. Then, signed release in her pocket, she drove to East 22nd and picked up the TiVo.

Julian Beck was still in his lab, eagerly waiting for her.

"I will have this baby singing like a bird first thing tomorrow," he assured her, taking the TiVo from her with an almost reverential expression on his face.

"It's okay, Julian," Olivia assured him. "It's just a loose end. Go on home."

"Oh, no," Beck said, looking shocked. "Are you kidding? I've been waiting to run this diagnostic since I got the protocol!"

"Okay," Olivia said. "Call me when you get a result."

Beck took Olivia at her word. As she fumbled with her phone at 2 am Olivia thought to herself that she probably should have foreseen that and been more literal.

"Hello?" she said.

"Detective Benson!" Beck said. "Oh, you sound like you were sleeping! I'm sorry – but I knew you'd want to hear about this right away!"

"Why, what?" Olivia said, sitting up in bed. "Hear what?"

He told her.


	35. Bricks In The Wall

After a brief, stunned, silence, Olivia thanked him and hung up.

She threw back the covers and sat up, punching Elliot's number into her phone. On the last digit she hesitated.  _It's late. I'll wake Kathy_

She shouldn't call. She couldn't  _not_.

He answered on the second ring, voice like a rusty hinge, cleared his throat and tried again. "'lo."

" Elliot, it's me," Olivia said.

"Hang on." She heard fabric rustle and knew he was getting out of bed to take the phone down the hall, away from Kathy. "Yeah, go on. What's up?"

"I just had a call from Julian Beck," Olivia said. "He ran those tests on Mary's TiVo and just got the results."

"And he  _called_  you? This late? And  _you_  called  _me_?"

"Yeah, hold on 'till you hear what he said. Mary set her TiVo at 7.15pm  _Wednesday_ night."

"The night she was attacked?"

"Uh-huh." Olivia got out of bed and paced to the dresser and back again. "She went home with Mr Tan Coat, she went  _inside_  her apartment with Mr Tan Coat, then she had plans to  _go out_  again. She set the TiVo. And then – "

"But we found the groceries inside the lift. She never made it inside."

"She made it inside," Olivia said grimly. "I'm guessing  _with_  her groceries. Elliot – "

"The crime scene was staged," Elliot said.

"We're being played," Olivia said. "The son-of-a-bitch – he must have some connection with Walters – he knew the M.O. and set the scene to make it look like Mary was grabbed by a stranger. Grabbed by Walters."

"So we need to be looking at Walters's associates – who might have know what he did to Annie Levy," Elliot said. "Who also knew Mary."

"Yeah," Olivia said. "I don't know why we didn't see it before – Huang told us, the M.O. was too much alike for it to be just random coincidence."

"An associate, an accomplice …" Elliot sighed.

"We've got all those transcripts," Olivia said. "We can crack this, Elliot. We can do it."

"Yeah. We'll get a jump on it first this tomorrow."

"I'll bring coffee," Olivia said. "You bring bagels."

"Deal," Elliot said.

Hanging up, Olivia thought that if she had someone warm in bed to go back to, she might leave this lead to tomorrow morning as well.  _As it is_  … She got dressed quickly, years of early morning call-outs having refined her toilette to a high-speed, streamlined routine.

When Don Cragen arrived at seven, Olivia had already gone through nearly half the transcripts from the federal wire-tap. She told him about Beck's phone call and her belief that the man in the tan coat had some connection with Walters that gave him knowledge of Walters's methods and habits as she pulled on her coat to go on a coffee run, and showed him the list of possible suspects she'd already pulled from the transcripts she'd gone through.

When she came back with the coffees Cragen was in his office on the phone. Olivia took him his coffee, hesitating long enough at the door to eavesdrop.

"Yes, it does," Cragen said. "Well, I appreciate that, Mr McCoy, but I  _don't_ think that's a fair characterisation – yes. Yes, I understand. Yes."

Olivia tiptoed quietly away. She put Elliot's coffee on his desk and went back to the transcripts. She'd added four more names to her list when a brown paper bag landed in front of her.

"Thank you," she said, reaching for the bagel.

"When did you get in?" Elliot asked. He took the top of his coffee and sniffed appreciatively.

"Came straight in when I got off the phone," Olivia admitted around a mouthful of bagel. "Mmmm, good. Did you get these from that place?"

"I did," Elliot said. "How are you going on names?"

"Nineteen so far," Olivia said. "You want to start running them while I keep going?"

"Can I finish my coffee?" Elliot asked plaintively.

"No," Cragen said from the door of his office. "Liv, Elliot, come her for a minute." He waited until they were in his office to continue. "I've just had an earful from Jack McCoy. He seems to feel quite strongly that we should have found out about this two  _weeks_  ago. We've been running in the wrong direction on this for the whole investigation so far."

"We can rule out a bunch of these guys just on DMV photos," Elliot said. "Having a sketch puts us ahead on that count. And we can concentrate on the men who might be able to sweet-talk Mary." He shrugged. "She went home with him. How many of Walters's associates can you believe that of?"

"What exactly did she say to you when you spoke to her?" Cragen asked.

"She blew me off," Elliot said. "Said she didn't need me to take her home. I shouldn't have let her, but – "

"Now try it one more time without the guilt," Cragen said with asperity. "Come on, Elliot. We're getting to the point where the papers are going to start saying it was a mistake to let  _this_  squad catch  _this_  case – and I'm not so sure they'd be wrong. So what did she say –  _exactly_."

Elliot sighed, shoulders slumping a little. "Yeah, okay," he said. "You're right. She said – let me think – " He closed his eyes, frowning a little as he summoned the memory. "She said 'Thanks for the offer, but I've run into a friend, so I'm okay for tonight.'"

"Run into a  _friend_ ," Cragen said. "Which implies it was someone she knew before that day."

"We can cross-reference Mary's files with Walters's known associates," Olivia said.

"I don't think Mary would refer to a previous defendant as 'a friend'," Elliot said. " _Or_  let him into her house."

Cragen looked from one to the other. "How about a defence lawyer?" he said quietly.


	36. A Shoulder To Cry On

_Office of EADA Jack_   _McCoy_

_One Hogan Place_

_7 pm_   _Wednesday 8th November 2006_

* * *

 

"So now they're looking at defence lawyers?" Abbie asked, and then yawned hugely, covering her mouth belatedly.

"Seems like," McCoy said. "You look beat, Abs."

"Big week at work," Abbie said. She smiled wearily.

McCoy studied her. She looked more tired than even a few big weeks should explain.

"That's all?" he asked, working hard to keep his voice light. "You're feeling okay?"

Abbie smiled, and McCoy knew her well enough to tell it was an easy, genuine smile. He relaxed a little. "Deal still holds, Jack," she said. "Don't worry about me."

"We can talk about this another time," he said. "Go on home."

A knock at the door made Abbie turn. Olivia Benson was standing in the doorway " Mr McCoy?" she said. " Captain Cragen said I should come by and give you an update – I can wait, if you – "

"No, come in," Abbie said. "I'd like to hear it, if that's okay."

"Should I call Casey Novak up here?" McCoy asked.

"Actually I already talked to her this afternoon," Olivia said. "I had grand jury testimony and we caught up after."

"Okay, well, fire away," McCoy said.

" Captain Cragen told you about the TiVo? And the groceries?" When McCoy nodded, Olivia went on: "It's looking pretty clear that this attack was a lot more organised and premeditated than we thought. We thought at first it was a blitz attack by an opportunistic predator – now we think it was a premeditated attempted murder by someone Mary either knew or could be persuaded to trust, and who set the scene up to mimic Edward Walters's previous attacks. We're focussing on the intersection between men who know Edward Walters and men who know Mary."

"Because the groceries were carried outside again. By someone with access to the apartment," McCoy said.

"By someone who was  _inside_  the apartment," Olivia said. "By Mr Tan Coat. Mary wasn't attacked on her way upstairs. She was attacked inside by the man she let in. After she set the TiVo, because she thought she was going out again – probably to dinner."

"And have you got any suspects?" Abbie asked. "Any defence lawyers who represented Walters and dated Mary?"

Olivia spread her hands. "Nothing. No connection – yet. But we're looking hard."

"Thanks for the update, detective," McCoy said.

"I'm sorry we don't have more for you," Olivia said. McCoy thought she did look genuinely regretful – and genuinely exhausted.

"I know you're working hard," he said. "I know you're doing everything you can." He could help adding: "I hope you're being careful. You might be getting close to this guy."

Olivia smiled wearily, almost cynically. " Mr McCoy, I've been in Special Victims for so long now, I'm always careful."

After she left Abbie looked at McCoy and raised her eyebrows. "Wow," she said.

"The jobs we do …" McCoy said.

"Yeah, but you and I can go and do wills and probate on Long Island if the depravity of human nature gets too much for us," Abbie said. "What do the police do? What does Olivia Benson do when she's looking at every stranger like a could-be rapist?"

_If Mary had …_  McCoy thought. He ran his hand over his face, hesitated, and then voiced the thought aloud. "If Mary had been more suspicious, she might have – she might not … "

"I was looking at Detective Stabler's statement," Abbie said after a moment. "You know, about the call? Mary said she'd ' _met a friend_ '."

"So?"

"Maybe it isn't a casual acquaintance who Mary should have been more wary of, or a first date gone really bad," Abbie said. "Maybe it really is someone she knew well. It's a staged scene, maybe the motive isn't sexual at all. Just plain old fashioned attempted homicide."

"The SVU detectives showed that sketch all over the courthouse and the building," McCoy objected. "No-one recognised him. If Mary knew him well,  _someone_ would have seen him. Family, friends –  _someone_."

"Maybe she knew him before she became an ADA," Abbie said.

"Then how would he know Walters?" McCoy asked.

Abbie frowned. " Jack, do you remember that meeting at the 16th ? That FBI shrink said something, something about it being  _unlikely_ that  _two_ predators were operating in the same place at the same time with the same method?"

"With the same MO and no connection, statically improbable," McCoy said. "That's why the SVU detectives are looking at men who are connected to Walters."

"Maybe," Abbie said, and then "No, no, Jack – they  _are_  connected. They  _are_  connected. They're connected through Mary.  _Mary_  is the link." She leaned forward eagerly. " _That's_  the only link you need. Mary arraigned Walters. She'd know every detail of his crime. She knew he'd approached Markham, that the police were concerned.  _Mary_  had every piece of information needed to set up that scene and frame Walters."

"So you think  _what_ , that Mary  _coached_  her attacker?" McCoy said.

"No, no, no," Abbie said, "No, listen, Jack, have you ever had a bad day? A day you just had to get off your chest? And maybe you meet up with someone you haven't seen for a while, and they're a sympathetic ear, and you find yourself telling them about it? Maybe about a case you're working?"

"Sounds like  _you_ have," McCoy said.

Abbie smiled, an oddly shy smile for Abbie Carmichael. "It's what happened the first time I met Tom. I had a hellacious day, my case went sour, my defendant walked – I was introduced to Tom at a fundraiser and he asked me what my job was like and I unloaded the whole saga on him." She shrugged. "If Tom had been of a mind to murder me and make it look like the work of environmental extremists, I sure gave him all the information he needed."

"My god," McCoy said, chilled, imagining Mary Firienze, a bad day at work, needing a shoulder to cry on and – "I wonder when she knew."  _Smooth blonde bob tangled under black tape –_ "When he first hit her? Or – " He swallowed hard..

"If that's what happened, then the detectives at SVU shouldn't rule suspects out just because they have no connection with Walters – because  _Mary_  is the connection," Abbie said, and then paused, stifling another yawn. "And it might not be a close friend, or an old acquaintance. Just someone she felt comfortable with."

"I'll call Don Cragen," McCoy said. "I'll tell him what you said. And you should go home and get some sleep."

Abbie smiled wearily. "I will. Do you want a lift?"

"No, I have the bike," McCoy said.

"Okay." She stood up. "Let me know how this is playing out. Oh, and Jack – maybe find out if Mary took the Walters file home with her? Maybe the man who attacked her had more than just Mary's bad day to go on."


	37. Narrow Windows

_Squad room_

_SVU_

_16th Precinct._

_8 am_   _Thursday 9th November 2006_

* * *

 

"So we have a wide-open field of suspects –  _again_ ," Elliot Stabler said.

"That's right," Cragen said. "But McCoy said Carmichael had another suggestion that might narrow things down. If her idea is right – and it might not be – that Mary's attacker got the idea to copy Walters after Mary told him about the case – there's one piece of evidence we haven't considered. Mary's briefcase was full of files she'd taken home to work on. I know we logged them all as evidence and the DA's Office had to make copies for the cases to go forward. Olivia, get the briefcase out of evidence and see if the Edward Walters file is in it. If it is, get it over to forensics and get it fingerprinted – every page, the paperclips, you got it?"

"Got it," Olivia said, reaching for her coat.

" Elliot, you and Munch work on the timeline. Mary ran into this guy sometime during her day. We have a breakdown of where she was when she was there. Put everybody she knew on that breakdown. If we can run down everybody she crossed paths with that day, one of them is the 'friend' she met."

"We've got a jump on that from the previous canvas," Elliot said. "We'll sharpen it up."

"What about me, Cap'n?" Finn asked.

"Re-assess and if necessary re-canvass Mary's building. If Mary went inside her apartment with this guy and then was taken back out again, the timeframe we're looking at is different. See who might have seen something  _later_  than we covered in the original canvas. Call up some extra manpower if you need it – there's still a list of possible volunteers on Elliot's desk."

"Okay," Finn said. As Olivia headed for the door, he was opening the file box full of witness statements stacked on the worktable while Elliot tacked more paper on the incident board, Munch looking on.

When she shuffled the files in Mary's briefcase out on the table in the evidence room Olivia found the file on Edward Walters tucked in the middle of them. Carefully, she slipped the file into a separate evidence folder and marked the tag to maintain the chain of custody. Then she returned the other files to Mary's briefcase and resealed the bag around it, pulled off her gloves and tossed them in the bin.

A quick call to the squad room to tell Cragen what she'd found and Olivia was on her way to the fingerprint lab at One Police Plaza.

She left the file with the techs, taking an extra minute to reinforce the importance of the file and of fingerprinting every single surface in it. On her way out, she stuck her head into Julian Beck's lab.

"You might have broken the case," she told him.

Beck looked up, his eyes huge behind his magnifying glasses. "Really?" he said, sounding half pleased and half disbelieving.

"Really," Olivia said. "With the TiVo thing."

"Oh, well, that's good. That's good," Beck said, bobbing his head a little nervously. "Because – you know, Miss Firienze came down here sometimes. When she had a case. She's really nice, Detective Benson. So I'm glad I helped."

"We're going to get this guy," Olivia told him.

"I hope so," Beck said. For a moment, and despite the fun-house glasses, the geeky lab-technician looked grimly heroic. "I really do."

On the way back to the one-six, Olivia thought about Julian Beck turned for a moment into determined avenger of Mary Firienze; about police and ADAs volunteering hours and hours of time to take statements and interview witnesses; about Abbie Carmichael going out on a limb to manufacture a federal warrant against Edward Walters; about the hours Casey Novak and Jack McCoy had been working.

_If Mary had any idea how many people cared, and how much they cared_  … Olivia thought.  _She would have laughed it off if someone had told her._

_If she knew, she'd be overwhelmed._

But Mary didn't know.

Mary didn't wake up.

Hurrying through the doors of the sixteenth precinct Olivia found her eyes filling with tears at the memory of Mary, bruises fading to yellow, cuts healing, but still lying so still.  _So very very still_. She wiped her eyes angrily.  _Crying doesn't help. Catch the bastard. Close the case. Cry when it's over. Cry when it's done._

Elliot only needed one look at her when she came into the squad room to tell the mood she was in. It was one of the advantages of having a long term partner. _They can tell when you're not handling it._

Elliot didn't try to speak to her, or coax her into feeling better, like he might have done in the first days of their partnership. He poured her a cup of coffee from the squad room urn and put it on her desk, squeezed her shoulder wordlessly, and let her be.

_They can tell when you're not handling it. And they know what to do._

Olivia sat and drank her coffee and pulled herself together.

After a while, she got up and went to the incident board to look over Munch's shoulder. The timeline of Mary's movements the day she was attacked was a lot more detailed than the last time Olivia had seen it, especially in the first part of the day.

"What do you think?" Olivia asked Munch.

"Well, if she met anybody, it looks like she met them in the courthouse," Munch said. "After she went back to Hogan Place she hardly left the office all day."

"So maybe she ran into someone in the courthouse and arranged to meet them later?" Olivia said.

"After ten o'clock," Elliot said. "That's when I left her."

"None of the witnesses saw her with anyone in the courthouse," Olivia said.

"We know we haven't spoken to every single person in the courthouse that day," Munch said. "We came close. But you know, you have perps moving in and out for arraignment, their lawyers, maybe their families … witnesses with families there to support them, you know the drill."

"We'll never run them all down," Olivia said.

"Maybe we don't need to," Elliot said. "Look. We know the time Mary left case conference – she looked at her watch and told one of the other ADAs that she had to hustle, she had a witness deposition at eleven and it was seventeen minutes to eleven. We have a witness who rode down with her in the lift – another one saw her passing Trial part 61 at ten to eleven."

"Trial part 61?" Olivia said, frowning. "That's not on the way to the door. Have you got – "

"A courthouse floor plan?" Munch said, shaking out a large piece of paper. "Voila, as they say in gay Paree."

" Mary wouldn't have passed part 61 on her way to the  _front_  door," Elliot said, using his pen to point to the map. "But she was late and hurrying. If she thought it would be quicker to cut out through the side entrance."

"And she'd pass part 61 at ten to eleven," Olivia said. "And be at the door a couple of minutes later."

"So we can work out which cases she passed at what time," Elliot said.

"What Elliot means is we have  _already_ worked out which cases she passed and at what time," Munch said smugly. "And we should have copies of the court reporters transcripts for the relevant period by the end of the day."

"That gives us a better chance," Olivia said. "Those are the kind of numbers we can deal with."

"A lot of people, but a ten minute window," Elliot said. "We've got a chance. Want to see the list of witnesses I've drawn up for you?"

"I can hardly wait," Olivia said.


	38. On The Court

_Manhattan YMCA_

_12.30 pm Thursday 9th November 2006_

* * *

 

"Hey, Jack!"

Louis Bernikow gestured for a pass. McCoy made as if to respond and then as a tall cop from Narcotics moved to intercept, McCoy sent the ball left instead to Qiao Chen. Chen tried to dribble the ball forward but found himself boxed in. Regan Markham took a long stride forward and cleared herself to receive a pass but Chen tried instead to go around the police team's defence himself and a lanky woman cop from Traffic snared the ball.

Bernikow swore and raced to cover the officer from Narcotics, the police team's best player. The prosecutor's team scrambled to defend, but the police scored against them three times, evening the score and moving ahead, before McCoy got possession of the ball again and the game flowed back up the court.

Again, Chen took a pass. Regan dodged into clear space and called for the ball. Chen tried to take an ambitious shot and the ball circled the rim then bounced clear.

"Bad luck," Bernikow called, but as he turned away he shot a glance at McCoy, eyebrows raised. McCoy shrugged.

" _I_  didn't invite him," he told the Rackets ADA. "He followed Regan."

Bernikow looked at Regan jogging back down the court, looking disgruntled. "And she must be  _thrilled_ about that."

"Ask her yourself," McCoy said, "She's not talking to me." In fact, he hadn't expected her to come to the game at all. Since Monday night she'd been stiffly professional with him, almost as if they'd never  _met_  before this week, let alone tried cases, certainly as if she'd never dragged him out of a bar in the small hours of the morning.

But she'd been on the court when he arrived, baggy T-shirt hanging loose from her broad, bony shoulders, bouncing the ball against the backboard with Qiao Chen watching her. Chen had hurried over to McCoy to tell him how much he loved basketball and how pleased he was to have the opportunity to play. Regan had gone on practicing her overheads, right-hand, left-hand then right-hand again, the ball coming back to her every time like it was on elastic.

Now, her T-shirt soaked with sweat, Regan took Chen's arm and leaned close to him. "You can let me have the ball occasionally," McCoy heard her say. "I won't _drop_  it."

Chen shook his arm free and turned away.

On the next play Regan took the opportunity herself, stealing possession from the cop from Traffic and dribbling up the court to the three point line. She made a lay-up from there and the lawyers were back in the game.

"You brought in a ringer, McCoy?" the Narcotics cop asked as Regan cut and took possession again.

"She's an ADA," McCoy said. "Check her badge."

"College ball?" the cop asked Regan, and she shook her head, moving slowly backwards from him, dribbling the ball and looking for a pass.

"High school," she said, and grinned as he feinted for the ball, moving easily away from him. "What can I tell you? I'm just better than you are."

"There's a challenge," he said. " Ben Strickland. Narcotics."

" Regan Markham," Regan said, "Major felonies."

"Jack McCoy's new girl," Strickland said. "I've heard about you."

"If I can interrupt you two," McCoy said, "I believe there's a game in progress?"

Regan looked sharply towards Bernikow. Two of the police players moved to cover him and as they did Regan floated backwards into clear court and snapped the ball to Chen. He dribbled towards the basket as the Traffic cop and her team-mate –  _Jimmy Something from the 1-4_ , McCoy thought, trying to bring the surname to mind – hurried to cover him and Strickland screened Regan.

"We gotta start playing half-court when we don't have ten players," Bernikow wheezed, "I'm too old for all this running around."

"The running around is the point, isn't it?" McCoy said, jockeying for clear court with the fourth and last police player, a rookie patrolman from the 1-6 who fit the description of ring-in if anyone did –  _what is he, six foot eight?_  McCoy wondered.

A groan from Bernikow brought his attention back to the game. Chen had tried to score again, and the ball had gone wide. As Strickland retrieved it from the sidelines and passed it in to Jimmy-Something from the 1-4 McCoy saw Regan shaking her head. "I could have sunk that," he heard her say to Chen. "You gotta start passing to me, Qiao, or we're gonna have our asses handed to us."

"So you can get all the glory?" Chen hissed to her. "I don't  _think_  so."

The woman cop from Traffic sank the next basket, then two from Strickland before Bernikow got possession again. He passed to Regan, who got enough clear air to pass to McCoy, who had no choice but to send the ball to Chen.

Who tried to shoot from a ridiculously long distance, and sent the ball out of bounds again.

"Goddamn," McCoy said.

"Now, Jack, it's just a game," Bernikow said.

"Game or not, I hate to lose," McCoy said. "I  _hate_  to lose."

Jimmy-Something took the ball back down the court until McCoy stole it from him and passed to Bernikow. The ball went back and forth between Bernikow and Regan for a few plays as both players tried to cut to clearer court. Regan found an opening and passed to Chen, who sent the ball to McCoy. McCoy saw Regan screen the Traffic cop and make room for Chen to cut, and when the young ADA did so McCoy passed to him and Chen put the ball neatly into the basket.

"Nice assist," Bernikow called to Regan.

McCoy raised his eyebrows. "Pouring gasoline on the bonfire, Louis?" he said quietly.

"I've always appreciated social experiments," Bernikow said equally softly. 'Which one of them will throw the first punch, do you think? Fifty bucks on the boy."

"I'll happily take your money," McCoy said.

"Oh-ho, if you're willing to wager you must have inside information," Bernikow said.

"Come on, Louis, you're the one who always says you should only bet when you know you're going to win," McCoy said. "Aren't we supposed to be playing basketball here?"

"Social experiments are more fun," Bernikow said, but he jogged away to open up the court.

Regan had the ball and Strickland was covering her. She turned her back to him, trying to edge him away and make a pass, but he was taller than she was and kept blocking her. They shoved at each other, barely the legal side of a foul.

"Here, Regan," Chen said. McCoy could see that the cop from Traffic was in too good a position to intercept any pass to Chen, and Regan must have been able to tell as well because she ignored Chen and kept trying to work around Strickland. "Regan!"

From the other end of the court, it was hard to tell what happened next, and McCoy would never be entirely clear on it. It looked to him as if Chen tried to  _steal_ the ball from his team-mate instead of waiting for the pass and Regan, her attention on fending off Strickland, fumbled the ball. It fell to the court at her feet, all three players bunched together and reaching for it, and then suddenly somehow it was under  _Chen_ 's feet and Chen was off balance and falling, the ball rolling away – he hit the court hard and clutched at his ankle.

"Geez, Chen, be careful," Regan said, stepping back. "Somebody could get hurt with that kind of a stunt."

"She  _fouled_ me," Chen said. He rolled over and tried to get up, but sank back to the court when he tried to put his weight on his right foot. "I think my ankle's sprained!"

"Let me see," Jimmy-Something said. He knelt down beside Chen. "You're done for today, Counsellor. Come on." He and Strickland helped Chen up and to the bench.

"We don't have a substitute," Bernikow pointed out. "You going to take one of your players off?"

"I don't mind sitting down," Jimmy –Something said. "I'll get some ice for the wounded warrior here." He clapped Chen on the shoulder and strode towards the change rooms as Strickland came back onto the court.

"Three on three?" Strickland said. "We're still going to win, Ms Markham."

"Famous last words," Regan said, bouncing the ball across to McCoy. "Famous last words."

In the end, Strickland was nearly right. With only ten minutes left and quite a few points behind the prosecutors struggled to make up ground. Wheezing for breath, Bernikow dropped back to play a defensive game under the police basket while Regan and McCoy tried to score. They laboured against the three cops all playing defence until McCoy sent a couple of long passes back to Bernikow to get clear court and the Traffic cop broke away to cover him, leaving McCoy and Regan against Strickland and the rookie ring-in from the 1-6.

After spending the first half of the game calling for passes that never came, Regan played hard as the clock wound down, even recklessly, with long-odds passes and jostling just the right side of the rules. McCoy recognised the expression of determination on her face – it was similar to the one he'd seen in the mirror from time to time.  _Win, or die trying_.

And they did win – McCoy sinking the final basket with seconds to spare.

"Dammit, you are better than me!" Strickland said to Regan.

She grinned at him, panting too hard to speak, and bent over with her hands on her knees. Seeing her flushed with exertion, her hair tied carelessly back and face glistening with sweat, McCoy thought she looked years younger than she did in the office, years younger and far happier.

"Nice win," he said to her as they both walked off the court.

"Thanks," Regan said, shoulders stiffening with tension and the easy grace she showed while playing vanishing as if McCoy's voice had magically transported her back to Hogan Place. She turned away from him to grab her bag and waterbottle from the benches.

"You know what they say, Regan," Chen said as she passed him. "It's not whether you win or lose, it's how you play the game."

"I play the game to  _win_ , Qiao," Regan said. "How do you play it?" She turned on her heel and strode off. McCoy watched her stalk into the change room, chin up, back straight.

_I should maybe make that call to Seattle_.


	39. Assigned Reading

_Squad room_

_SVU_

_16th Precinct._

_8 pm_   _Thursday 9th November 2006_

* * *

 

"And these are all the cases you have?" Regan asked, thumbing through the pages.

"All the ones from the relevant times," Munch said. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "And places. But please – " he gestured to the stack of files behind him. "Those are the cases in court that morning from the whole courthouse. Feel free to check them out as well. I know ADAs have so much free time on their hands."

"Ha, ha," Regan said, but she grabbed the files and started looking through them, flipping to the page of witness lists in each.

"I'm beat," Olivia said. "I've got nothing on these names, Elliot. I have to catch a couple of hours."

"Go home, start fresh tomorrow," Elliot said. "Go on."

"No, I'm – " Olivia's words were cut off by a yawn. "Okay, I'm going. See you tomorrow."

As the door closed behind her the phone on her desk rang. Elliot stretched to pick it up. "Detective Benson's phone," he said. "Uh huh. Hi, Julian, it's Elliot. Yeah. Okay. Thanks. Thanks for calling." He hung up and said to the room in general, " Julian Beck says the prints unit found a stray print on one of the pictures in the Walters file – and some smeared patches on other papers and pictures like they'd been wiped. They've started running it but so far nothing's popped."

"So Abbie was right," Munch said. "The son-of-a-bitch used Edward Walters as a template for a cold-blooded murder."

"She's not dead," Regan said sharply.

Munch swivelled his chair to look at her over his steepled hands. "Counsellor, we all know how you feel. But it's been two weeks since she was hurt and five days since she came off sedation. The doctors have tried twice to see if she'd breathe on her own. Her family won't let them try again because three times is one of the criteria for brain death."

"I know all that," Regan said.  _Hiss, thump_. "Just – "

"Whatever happens," Elliot said, "it's clear that the motive was to kill Mary. The sexual assault and the torture were part of the frame. The head injury was the necessary element."

Regan opened her mouth to say something, and then closed it and turned back to her files.  _Detective Munch is right_. She didn't want to think about it, but it was true.  _Most people don't come back from this. That's why the families stop visiting._

_That's why I woke up alone._

_Hiss, thump_.

"You find something?" Munch asked.

Regan realised she had been staring at the same page for she-didn't-know- _how-_ long. She searched quickly for something to justify her pre-occupation. Her gaze lit on something unfamiliar. "What's this 'Witness John Doe'?" she asked.

"Let me see," Elliot said, coming to look over her shoulder. "People v Carlo Giacometti. Sounds like a mob case."

"That's racial stereotyping," Munch said.

Regan flipped a couple of pages. "Says here he's a Florida 'entrepreneur' charged with killing a rival loan shark and dumping his body in a footlocker into the Hudson."

"Still stereotyping, John?" Elliot asked. Munch grimaced sourly. "Anyway," Elliot went on, "'Witness John Doe' is probably someone in witness protection. They put them behind a screen, the whole deal. That case is a bust, anyway. Not even on the right floor."

"Okay," Regan said. She closed the file and tossed it aside.

"Wait a minute, let me see that," Munch said. Regan stretched, nearly overbalanced, snagged the file and passed it over to him. Munch studied it for a moment. " Elliot, you know how they bring the undercover narc cops into the courthouse through the side entrance?"

"Yeah," Elliot said. "To protect their cover."

"Do you think they bring witnesses in federal witness protection the same way?" Munch asked.

Elliot and Regan looked at him in silence for a moment. "That is an excellent question, John," Elliot said at last.

"Well here's another, as a bonus. Do you think Witness Doe was brought in or out at about, say, ten fifty-two am?" Munch said.

"No way to know from this file," Regan said. "I'll pull the transcript first thing tomorrow."

"Okay. And let's try three for three," Munch said. "Do you think Witness John Doe owns a tan overcoat?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm playing fast and loose with medical criteria and practices. After five days in a coma due to brain injury, it is pretty early to give up on Mary – but I didn't want to spin the story out over five months.


	40. Found

_10th Floor_

_One Hogan Place_

_10.30 am Friday 10th November 2006_

* * *

 

Regan stuck her head out of Alex's old office as McCoy passed. "Excuse me, Mr McCoy," she said stiffly, not quite looking at him, "do you have a moment spare?"

McCoy paused, shrugging into his suit jacket. "I'm due in sentencing in fifteen. Walk with me?"

Regan nodded, still not meeting his gaze.  _I don't think she's looked me in the eye since she looked me in the eye and lied to my face on Monday night_ , McCoy thought, remembering the ringing conviction in her voice as she said  _That's why I left Seattle_ , the flicker in her eyes that betrayed her.

Now she followed him to the elevators, as awkward as if they had become strangers all over again.  _I got near **something,**_ McCoy thought.  _Some very raw nerve_. He could call the Seattle DA and ask a few questions – but the wiser second thoughts he had ignored when he had seen Regan as  _a witness on the verge of cracking_  suggested to him that Regan would find such a phone call unforgivable.

_She'd rather I think the worst of her than I know the truth._

He waited for her to speak, and finally prompted her. "What have you got?"

"This morning's arraignments? I pled Jackson down, remand on Kirowsky and on Juliana Cameron – "

" Cameron?" McCoy asked, trying to bring the case to mind while he put on his coat.

"Junkie hooker rolled a john, rolled him all the way into the Hudson. Plus I got two hundred thousand bond on Zinn."

"That all sounds good," McCoy said.

"Okay, well, I have less good," Regan said, following him onto the elevator, seeming less guarded now they were talking about safely professional matters. "The detectives at the one-six are trying to run down a lead on a possible suspect. He's a witness in the federal witness protection program. They want to rule him in or out based on his movements in the courthouse on the day but the transcripts are sealed by judicial order."

"To protect his identity," McCoy said, nodding. "A John Doe witness. Who's he testifying against?"

"Some Florida mob boss. What's the deal with that, here in New York?" Regan asked.

"Is this the Giacometti trial?" McCoy asked. The elevator reached the ground floor and he held the door for Regan to precede him.

"Yeah."

" Giacometti has summer and winter quarters. He killed and jointed a competitor, tucked him into a foot locker and dumped in the Hudson about five years ago. Unfortunately for him, it came up in the dredging. Carver's trying the case." McCoy pushed through the doors onto the street and Regan followed him, folding her arms against the chill wind.

"Can you reach out to Carver?" she asked uncertainly, as if she were asking a huge favour. "Maybe find out about the times? They want to know if he would have passed Mary on her way out the side door just before eleven. It would help Stabler a lot."

"I'll do that as soon as I get back to the office," McCoy promised. "Anything else?"

"No," Regan said, shivering as she strode beside him along the sidewalk.

"Then get back inside – you're turning blue."

Regan ducked her head shyly, and turned back towards One Hogan Place. McCoy watched her inside the building, and then went on his own way to the courthouse.

The sentencing phase of the trial took less than half an hour – he'd reached a deal with the defence that everybody could live with. That done, he called back to Hogan Place to find where Carver was that morning and found he was actually in court. McCoy checked his watch, thought about the cases on his desk, and asked Colleen to put him through to Regan Markham.

A man answered the phone. " Chen here."

" Mr Chen, is ADA Markham there?"

"She stepped out, Mr McCoy, can I help you with something?"

"Tell her I'm going to be over here a little longer than I thought and she needs to call me."

"I'll tell her," Chen said.

McCoy switched his phone to silent and dropped it in his pocket, then hurried up to the Giacometti trial.

Ron Carver was still presenting his case. He was leading testimony from Mike Logan and McCoy slipped into the back row to watch. Logan had matured in the years since he and McCoy had worked closely together. He didn't show any flashes of temper in the stand, even when Giacometti's lawyer worked him over a little bit on cross. Carver undid any damage on redirect, smooth as butter.

McCoy always enjoyed watching Carver work. He was perhaps the most elegantly mannered prosecutor in the DA's Office, and he had a flair for the dramatic that rivalled McCoy's own. Today he was the soul of sweet reason, making every objection by defence counsel seem unreasonable and petty. McCoy could see it working on the jury. One juror even rolled her eyes every time the defence counsel stood up.  _Much more of this and they won't listen to a word the defence says,_ McCoy thought, suppressing a smile.  _Not when he's being so rude to that nice Mr Carver_.

McCoy checked his phone to see if Regan had called, but the screen showed no missed message. He scribbled a note and had a court officer pass it to Carver as Logan was excused from the stand.

"Your honour, before my next witness, may I ask for a five minute break?" Carver said. "It's been a long morning, and I'm sure the jury is as eager to stretch  _their_ legs as I am to stretch mine."

"Noted, Mr Carver. Five minutes," the judge said.

McCoy met Carver half-way down the aisle. "Nice work, Ron," he said.

"Thank you, Jack, but I don't think you came in just to admire my rapport with police witnesses."

"I was referring to your rapport with the jury," McCoy said. "Don't be coy, Ron, it doesn't suit you."

Carver let the faintest smile of satisfaction show. "Well, thank you, then," he said. "And what can I do for you?"

"You had a witness in here on October 25th," McCoy said.

"I had a lot of witnesses in here on October 25th," Carver said.

"This one was special," McCoy said. "A ' John Doe'."

"Now, now, Jack," Carver said immediately, spreading his hands and taking a step back. "You know I can't talk about that."

"Is this man bothering you, Counsellor?" Mike Logan asked Carver as he reached the two lawyers. Carver looked briefly taken aback until McCoy grinned.

"Good to see you, Mike," he said, extending a hand. Logan shook it. "How's Major Case?"

"Same-old same-old," Logan said. "They got me working with a  _girl_  now, a lot easier on the eye than Lennie. Did I hear you asking about one of the witnesses?"

"I'm not asking for a name," McCoy said. "Although you can't believe that Giacometti doesn't know from his testimony who he is. I just want to know when he was entering and leaving the courthouse. The transcript's sealed. You must have notes."

"Why?" Carver asked.

"Mary Firienze," McCoy said.

Logan swore softly, half turned away.

"You think my John Doe witness had something to do with the attack on Ms Firienze?" Carver asked incredulously. "And how do you think he slipped away from his FBI bodyguards?"

"When was he here that day, Ron?" McCoy asked. "It's a simple question."

"I'll have to check my notes," Carver said.

"He came into the building just before eleven," Logan said. Carver looked at him and Logan shrugged. "What? He did. They brought him in the side and straight into the courtroom. Walked right past me."

"You sure about the time?" McCoy asked.

"I've spent more time cooling my heels in the damn corridor on this case than every other trial combined," Logan said. "The fucking clock is burnt on my retinas. Yeah, I'm sure about the time."

"You happy?" Carver asked McCoy. "This man's life is in danger because of his testimony, Jack. Your detectives better be aware of the risk they put him to if they start nosing around."

"Nothing about this makes me  _happy_ ," McCoy said. "But I only have one more question."

"I'm not telling you his name," Carver said immediately. "Or his alias. You can take that up with the USDA."

"I will," McCoy said. "That's not what I was going ask. Mike, when you saw the witness, what was he wearing?"

Logan frowned, thinking back. "He had a coat on," he said. "A long brown coat."

"Brown?" McCoy asked. "Like, chocolate brown?"

"No," Logan said. "No, not chocolate. More like  _tan_."


	41. Old Enemies

_Courthouse_

_11.45 am Friday 10th November 2006_

* * *

 

McCoy burst out of the courthouse doors and took the stairs two at a time, late but moving fast. He pulled out his mobile and called the office again, leaving another message with Chen for Regan to call him. Then he called the Sixteenth Precinct. The phone in the SVU squad room was answered by Detective Benson. He told her what Logan had said.

"The fingerprint doesn't match any database," Olivia said. "So the Giacometti case is our only lead to Mr Tan Coat."

"We'll ask the Feds for him," McCoy said.

"They'll never co-operate," Olivia protested.

"Then we'll subpoena them," McCoy said grimly. "I'll get Casey started on the paper."

He hung up, looked at his watch, swore. He was now, unquestionably and irretrievably late. Dodging traffic, he ran across Hogan Place against the lights and pushed through the doors.  _Brief Casey later – dammit, if Regan had called me!_

On the tenth floor McCoy paused long enough at the door of Alex's old office to order Regan into his office  _right now, Ms_   _Markham_.

She followed him obediently.

"I know you're not happy with me," McCoy snapped as he slung his briefcase onto his desk, "but there's  _no excuse_  not to call when I need you to. I'm fifteen minutes late for the deposition on McMillan, which you could be taking if you'd called me."

"I didn't – "

"Think it was important?" McCoy snarled. He grabbed the McMillan file.

Regan opened her mouth and then closed it again. "Sorry," she said, looking past his right ear. "Won't happen again."

"See that it fucking well doesn't," McCoy told her. He grabbed two files off his desk and slung them at her. "I'm not going to make it out to Rikers this afternoon. Get out there and take these meetings. Don't plead anybody to anything, you hear?"

"Yes," Regan said, catching the files. She turned on her heel and walked out, back straight. McCoy ran his fingers through his hair and followed her, turning right towards the case conference rooms.

The deposition was straightforward but lengthy. By the time he'd gone through every necessary point and clarified every possible uncertainty it was past three. He considered calling Casey, but then had a better idea. Leaving his files in his office he went down to the SVU Bureau.

Casey was surrounded by paper and a little bit wild-eyed. "I've already had lunch, Jack," she said distractedly. "Can you see a file labelled 'Durrer – DNA' anywhere?"

McCoy looked at the papers nearest him. "Here." He held it out.

"Thanks," Casey hardly looked at him as she took it.

"You're really buried," McCoy said.

"Drowning in discovery," Casey said.

"Do you need another paralegal?"

"Yes, but there isn't one to be had," Casey said. "Is People v Rodriguez the case I'm thinking of?"

McCoy thought  _discovery – special victims – physical evidence_. "No," he said. "People v Martinez is the admissibility of non-police laboratory scientific results. Rodriguez is uncorroborated police testimony."

"Thanks," Casey said.

"I need you to get a subpoena from Justice Donnelly for information about the John Doe witness in the Giacometti trial."

"What?" Casey asked confusedly.

"He's Mr Tan Coat," McCoy said. " Mike Logan saw him in a tan coat and he was there at just the right time to cross paths with Mary."

"But what's his connection with her?" Casey asked.

"We can't know that until we know who he is," McCoy pointed out. "So persuade Donnelly to force witness protection to give us his original identity and anything else we can get."

"All right, I'll – Jesus." She ran her hands through her hair. " Jesus. I'll make it work. Can you give me one of your baby ADAs? Don't look at me like that, it's hardly straightforward. And you know what Donnelly's like. I can't do the legwork myself, I don't have time."

"Tell Qiao Chen what you need," McCoy said, conceding the point. "But don't leave him unsupervised, Casey, he's not up to the responsibility."

"I won't," Casey promised.

Giving up on the idea of a late lunch, McCoy headed back to his office and his files. It was past six when a knock on his door made him look up.

Regan was hovering in the doorway, looking the worse for wear after her trip to Rikers Island. "I've written up the case conferences," she said. "Do you want me to run through them?"

"Let me guess," McCoy said. " Wendy Weiss told you her client heard his current cellmate confess to a bunch of outstanding cases, and Jason Whittaker threatened to humiliate the DAs Office in court?"

"That's about the size of it."

"Kick the tips down to the 2-7 for them to check out. We'll give Wendy and her carjacker consideration if they're worth anything. Did Whittaker have a specific threat?"

"Does 'I'll make you wish you'd never left Bumfuck, Idaho' count?" Regan said dryly.

"Only if you come from Idaho," McCoy said. Regan smiled a little, but McCoy thought it seemed forced. "He give you that hard a time?" he asked her.

Regan shrugged. "He's alarmingly well dressed," she said. "And he made me feel – alarmingly  _not_."

"Clothes don't make a lawyer, Regan. Whittaker's built his practice on getting pre-trial results because he's a past master at making ADAs feel like idiots. Get him in a courtroom and that supercilious sneer and those four-thousand dollar suits make jurors loathe him on sight." He leaned back in his chair. "If that doesn't make you feel better, then bear in mind that I once went up against him with nothing but circumstantial evidence and a seven-year-old suit and I got his client strapped to a gurney."

Regan smiled more easily. " Jack," she said, hesitated, started again: " Jack, I – "

" Mr McCoy!" Qiao Chen pushed past Regan. " Mr McCoy, Judge Donnelly has granted the subpoena. Ms Novak is in records right now – but the US Attorney is appealing. He's applied for a stay. Here's the notice." He held out the papers and McCoy took them.

He scanned the pages. "Did you page Ms Novak?" he asked.

"Yes, Judge Donnelly's subpoena was limited to her, because of the need for confidentiality, and she said that she should read as much as she could before the court – should I page her again? I thought – she seemed to know – "

" Mr Chen, take a few deep breaths," McCoy advised. He reached for his suit jacket. "You and I are going to Donnelly's chambers. Casey is right. She's doing more good in records right now than anywhere else."

"But if the subpoena's overturned, then we'll never get the evidence admitted," Chen said.

"Have you ever heard a lawyer say that you can't un-ring a bell?" McCoy asked. Chen looked blank, but a smile spread slowly over Regan's face.

"Inevitable discovery," she said.

"Exactly," McCoy said. " Mr Chen, if Casey knows what the detectives should be looking for, she can tell them what steps to take to find the information on their own. Then the subpoena will be irrelevant."

"Isn't that bootstrapping?" Chen asked, following McCoy into the hall.

"Only if you do it wrong. Come on."

Behind them both, Regan cleared her throat. "What should I – "

"We've got this, Regan," Chen said.

"Oh, shall I stay here and answer the  _phone_?" Regan said with what seemed to McCoy to be an odd emphasis.

"No, call Abbie Carmichael," McCoy ordered, getting into the lift. He stuck out a hand to keep the doors from closing. "See if she can put a leash on – who's the attorney?"

"Gervits," Chen said.

McCoy swore. "Well, no chance Abbie can rein  _him_  in. But call her, Regan, fill her in, and tell the detectives at the 16th what's going on." He let the doors close, shutting her out, and turned to Chen. "Have you come across Gervits before, Mr Chen?"

"No, sir," Chen said.

"He once put two witnesses who'd been promised protective custody in prison in general population. They didn't last two months."

"That's harsh," Chen said. "Will Judge Donnelly give him the stay?"

"She'll have to," McCoy said. "He's appealing to have a subpoena she issued tossed out. If she doesn't stay it until she hears argument, it'll look like she's prejudged the issue."

"So why are we – "

" Mr Chen, were you listening?" McCoy said. The elevator doors opened and McCoy strode out, Chen hurrying behind him. " Casey Novak is trying to break a land-speed record for transcript reading right now in the hope she'll find the detail we need before the court closes her down. Liz Donnelly knows that – and as scrupulously impartial as she is, she will always be a former Special Victims Bureau Chief. We're going to give her every excuse to take her time issuing that stay."

In Donnelly's Chambers, Bob Gervits lost no time confirming McCoy's opinion of him: a bad lawyer whose career was based on cheap tricks and low cunning. He had an argument no lawyer could lose, but McCoy still kept him tied in knots for nearly half an hour.

There was, however, only so much he could do.

"And in addition, your honour," he said, knowing he was reaching, "as People v Mallineux holds, a stay ought to be in the interests of justice. In this case, with the risk of flight that attends given the concealment of the witness – "

"That's a stretch, Mr McCoy," Liz Donnelly said in the flat, no-nonsense tone he knew indicated that she meant what she said. McCoy shut his mouth. "Mallineaux  _limits_ , not  _extends_ , judicial discretion."

"Yes, your honour," McCoy said meekly. Liz –  _Justice Donnelly,_  McCoy reminded himself – gave him a long considering look.  _She knows me more than well enough to know I'm play-acting,_  McCoy thought.

"Your honour," Gervits said, "You can't possibly – "

" Mr Gervits, lawyers who tell me what I can and can't do are tempting fate," Liz snapped.

"With respect, your honour," Gervits tried again, his unctuous tone showing how assumed his respect was, "in this case – "

"You may not be aware, Mr Gervits," Liz said, "I generally only give  _one_ warning." She spent a moment flipping through the papers in front of her, but at last she looked up. "All right, Mr Gervits, you have your stay."

Gervits pulled our his phone before he'd even left the room, and McCoy heard him beginning to order the court officer to get Casey out of the records room. McCoy started to follow Gervits into the hall, but Liz said: " Mr Chen, will you give us a moment, please?" and McCoy stopped.

When the door had closed behind Chen McCoy turned one of the visitor's chairs to face Liz and sat down.

"I'm sorry, Jack," Liz said. "You know I can't play favourites."

"I do," McCoy said. "I expected nothing else."

"If this John Doe witness is the man who attacked Mary, are you going to be able to get him back from the Feds?"

"Or die trying," McCoy said.

Liz gave him a tiny, wintry smile. "I wish I thought you didn't mean that literally," she said. "Sometimes you do take some awful risks."

"I appreciate the sentiment," McCoy said. "But you know you don't mean that. You want me to get this guy – for Mary, for the Special Victims Bureau. And I will, Liz. I'll get him for you. I'll do what has to be done."

Liz looked down, but not before he saw the tears standing in her eyes. She cleared her throat, and was all business again. "Gervits is fighting harder on this than I would have expected," she said. "Legal principles are one thing, but I can't see the harm in giving SVU John Doe's  _old_  name – especially if they might be able to rule him in or out as a suspect."

" Bob Gervits has been trying to settle a score with me – and the Manhattan DA's Office - for years. I don't think anything will satisfy him short of my head on a pike," McCoy said.

"If you need me to give it to him," Liz said, "just say the word." She smiled again, with the malicious amusement many defence lawyers had learnt to dread in her years as a prosecutor. "Aren't you due at the one-six?"

McCoy accepted his dismissal and got up. "I'll keep you posted," he said.

"No," Liz said. "Don't do one thing that you wouldn't do if I were any other judge. You hear me? No grounds for appeal on this one."

"No grounds for appeal," McCoy agreed, and turned to leave. One hand on the doorknob, he paused, and looked back. "I will get this man, Liz. I promise you."

It was a great exit line, but as always, Liz was unable to let him have the last word. Her voice followed him into the hallway.

"You'll keep that promise, Jack McCoy, or answer to me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The case McCoy refers to involving Gervits is Ambitious. I don't know if it's cannon that the witnesses were killed in prison, but the implication was that they were in extreme danger.


	42. Bootstrapping

_Squad room_

_SVU_

_16th Precinct._

_7.30 pm Friday 10th November 2006_

* * *

 

Regan poured herself her fourth cup of coffee for the hour and paced back to the evidence board. She studied the sketch of Mr Tan Coat while behind her Elliot Stabler and Odafin Tutuola went through another round of bitching about Bob Gervits. Olivia Benson was nowhere to be seen, John Munch was reading a paperback at his desk and Captain Cragen was working in his office.

_A cop's paperwork is never done,_  Regan thought, glancing through the door at Cragen's bowed head. She checked her watch again and sipped the thin, bitter squad room coffee.

The door banged open and they all turned. Jack McCoy strode in, followed by Qiao Chen.

"What happened?" Stabler asked. "Did you get the subpoena upheld?"

McCoy shook his head. "Stayed until – " he started to say, but the chorus of dismay from the cops drowned him out.

"I can't believe the US Attorney is trying to protect this guy," Stabler said, loudest of the three.

"He's not, exactly," McCoy said. "He's trying to screw me. This guy is just the weapon."

"You'll fight it in court?" Don Cragen asked.

"Yes – and I'll win, eventually," McCoy said. "But I wouldn't put it past Gervits to get him moved, get him a new identity. We go to court tomorrow, he loses, he appeals. The subpoena's stayed until the appeal is heard. And so on."

"Then take yourself off the case," Stabler suggested. "If it's all about you, maybe he'll back down."

" Bob Gervits hates the whole office," Abbie Carmichael said from the doorway. "There's no way to mollify him. Believe me, it's been tried many a time before. You tied him up for a while, Jack." She tossed her coat and briefcase on the nearest desk and sank wearily into the chair.

"I did my best," McCoy said. "But eventually even Liz Donnelly couldn't pretend my arguments were relevant. Any word from Casey?"

"Not yet," Stabler said.

"Try her cell," McCoy said. "Gervits must have got the stay across to Records by now."

Stabler dialled, and they all heard the sprightly tune start in the hall. Stabler put the phone down as Casey pushed through the squad room doors, fumbling in her handbag for her phone.

"It's me, Case," Stabler said, and she stopped.

"How did you go?" McCoy asked.

"Not great," Casey said. Regan thought she heard an edge to her voice that shouldn't be there and looked more closely at her. The senior prosecutor seemed too pale, and her fingers fumbled with the zipper on her bag, hand shaking. Regan took a step towards her, putting down her coffee cup on the nearest desk, as McCoy said:

" Casey, what happened to your arm?"

Casey jerked her sleeve down but not fast enough to keep everyone there from seeing the red marks on her right wrist. Stabler and McCoy both moved towards her, Stabler reaching her first and taking her arm gently but firmly. "Let's see, Casey, let's see."

"It's nothing," Casey said. "The Records officers were sympathetic, and when Gervits found out I was still in there he got a little physical."

"He  _what_?" McCoy said, and the cold fury in his voice touched Regan like an icy breeze. Stabler pushed Casey's sleeve up to show the burgeoning bruises on her wrist.

"I think this US Attorney and I are going to have a talk," Stabler said grimly.

"Both of you, cool it," Casey said, pulling away. "I don't need anyone riding to my goddamn rescue."

Regan went to the coffee urn and poured another mug, adding milk and sugar. She took it to Casey, cutting in between her and the two men, using her body to make McCoy and Stabler step back. For a minute she thought Stabler was going to force the issue and they were going to end up in a shoving match but then she felt space open up behind her. Regan gave Casey the coffee and turned around, keeping herself between the senior prosecutor and the rest of the room. She folded her arms and stared McCoy and Stabler down. In that moment they were every unhelpful bystander she'd ever dealt with and the face she put on for them was bland and implacable, her 'patrol-officer-at-an-accident' face.

After a moment both men turned away, McCoy going to talk quietly to Abbie Carmichael and Stabler turning back to the case board. Regan waited a moment after that before she turned back to face Casey, careful not to look right at her, giving her that little bit more privacy.

"Need anything?" she asked quietly.

"I'm good," Casey said, and her voice was easier. "Thanks."

"Not a problem," Regan said, and moved away, picking up a file of statements from the witness canvass of Mary's building and leafing through it.

"So we have a name," Casey said after a little while, raising her voice to include everybody in the room. " Phillip Watts."

"Not ringing any bells," Finn said.

Munch took a file from his desk and opened it to reveal a list of names. "Let's see, Watts, Watts … Washburn, Michael, hairdresser. Wilson, Jeremy, former boyfriend. No Watts, Phillip or otherwise."

"Try Florida," Jack McCoy said, his voice cracking. He looked to Regan as if he might be going to be sick. He cleared his throat and added: "Jackson PD."

"At this time of night?" Munch asked.

"Do you know the name, Jack?" Abbie Carmichael asked.

"Just call Jackson PD," McCoy said harshly, and turned away from them.

Stabler and Munch exchanged glances, and then Stabler shrugged and picked up the phone. The others watched and listened as he exchanged pleasantries with someone on nightshift in Jackson, and then asked to talk to anyone who could give them information on Phillip Watts and his possible connection to Mary Firienze. After a short pause he repeated the request to someone else. Then he went very still.

"I'm just going to put you on the speaker phone, okay?" he said. When he'd done so, he said: "Just say that again for the rest of the team."

"I said," a man's voice said on the other end of the phone, "don't you mean Phillip Watts and his connection to  _Carla_  Firienze?"

" Bill, you're on speakerphone with Detectives Munch and Tutuola, Captain Cragen, and a few ADAs," Elliot said. "One of our prosecutors was attacked and sexually assaulted a couple of weeks ago, and we have some indications Phillip Watts might have been involved."

"When you said Phillip Watts and Firienze, that just took me right back," the Jackson detective said. "I was the lead on that case and we never solved it. You know how you get, when you never get to give the family a sense of resolution. We liked the boyfriend – this Phillip Watts – we liked him a lot for it. He was just _off_ , if you know what I mean, just not right about the way he acted, the was he was after it happened."

"I'm not liking this," Cragen said. "I'm not liking this at  _all_."

They were all crowded around Stabler, listening to the phone, except McCoy. Regan looked up and saw him standing by the case board, arms folded, shoulders hunched, staring at the floor as if it held the answers to the case. She could imagine the thoughts – the  _images_  – running through his mind, and part of her wanted to go to him, shake him free from the memories that trapped him.

She didn't move.  _Even if we were on those terms, for a moment, it wasn't anything that could last. He's **Jack McCoy** And I'm the bottom-of-the-barrel ADA he's stuck with, maybe a bad cop for all he knows, not someone he trusts._

Still, there was an ache in her chest as she looked at his rigid shoulders, at the bleak lines etched on his face.

"If you liked him that much, what's he doing in Manhattan?" Stabler asked Bill from Florida, and Regan dragged her attention back to the case.

"He had an alibi, and that was all she wrote," the voice on the phone said.

"So he was cleared. He didn't kill the older sister, now we're looking at him for raping the younger?" Finn said.

"How solid was the alibi?" Regan asked, have to lean in between Stabler and Finn to get close enough to the phone.

"Solid enough to kick him loose. He was at some club with a dozen witnesses," Bill said.

"What club?" Casey asked sharply.

"The Ticket," Bill said. "It's a bit past it now, but back then it was a happening place – the high rollers and the Miami mob used to rub shoulders. Some of his witnesses were suspected mobsters."

"When was this?" Casey demanded, leaning over from the other side of the desk to get closer to the phone.

"Back in ninety – "

"The date, the date," Casey said, the urgency in her voice getting even McCoy's attention. "When was Carla murdered, what day?"

"I won't forget it soon," Bill said. "May 3, 1997."

"Oh my god that's it," Casey said. "That's it." She looked stunned, her voice flat and distant.

Cragen looked at her for a beat, and then said quite calmly, " Bill, we're going to have to wrap this up, but we appreciate the help."

"I'd appreciate a call tomorrow with more details about where your case is at," Bill said. "I'd like to get this guy, if I can. Alibi or no, I never could get it out of my head that he knew more about what happened than he was telling."

"We'll call you," Cragen promised, and pressed the button to end the call. "What is it, Casey?"

" Watts was up here testifying against Carlo Giacometti," Casey said. "He's on trial for the murder of a loan shark who was cutting him out of his business. Watts is testifying about a murder in Jackson back in 1997 – you know, criminal enterprise, pattern of conduct, Carver got it admitted. It was the night of May 3 1997." She pressed her fingers to her forehead, eyes squeezed shut, drawing up the memory of the transcript she'd read. "He testified in court that he and Giacometti picked up the vic and drove him out of town. Watts said he thought Giacometti was going to put a scare into the guy and when the gun came out he didn't know what to do. He said he walked away from the two of them because he didn't want to get involved and went home. Then later Giacometti came by and picked him up. They went down to the docks where Watts helped Giacometti dispose of a big footlocker. Giacometti's pals swore they were both at the Ticket  _all that night_."

"As if he didn't know what was in the footlocker!" Finn scoffed.

"Not the point, detective," McCoy said. "The point is, in blowing Giacometti's alibi to the murder he blew his own as well. He admitted going home – he was in the place at the time Carla Firienze was beaten to death."

"Better than that," Olivia Benson said from the doorway, making them all turn. She strode towards them. "He sealed his witness protection deal with the evidence. Apparently there's a security tape that shows Phillip Watts with Giacometti and the footlocker."

"At the docks?" Regan asked.

"At Watts's home," Olivia said grimly. "The home he shared with Carla Firienze. The home where her mother found her beaten to a bloody pulp the morning after this tape shows Watts coming out of the apartment covered in blood."

"And the feds sat on it?" Casey said.

"They thought it was the vic's blood," Olivia said. "They didn't know anything about an unsolved local homicide when Watt's came to them with the offer. They thought the blood showed he was more involved in the murder than he was willing to admit and they were willing to give him a pass on it to get Giacometti."

" _They_ didn't know anything about an unsolved local homicide," McCoy said. "But Mary … when Watts saw her at the courthouse and found out she was a prosecutor he must have realised it was all going to come unstuck."

"But why, if she knew he was a suspect then, would she trust him now?" Regan asked.

"He  _was_  a suspect," Finn said. "Until his alibi checked out."

"How hard did they check that alibi, do you think?" McCoy asked angrily.

"Take it easy," Cragen said. "They didn't know that Giacometti's pals at the club thought they were alibing the two of them for a mob hit. How many made guys do you know would protect someone outside the family for beating his girlfriend to a pulp?"

"I bet she trusted him  _because_  she suspected him," Abbie said quietly. "She thought he was guilty. Then the police cleared him. She felt bad about thinking ill of an innocent man. She over-compensated - the same reason a woman goes out with a man when every instinct is screaming at her that he's a rapist – because she blames herself for being unfair. It's not  _nice_  to think men are bad. So when she ran into him, and he sweet-talked her to try and find out what she knew about the case … "

"Then he slipped away from his handlers – " Olivia said, nodding.

"Went home with her. And she said something – or asked something – and he thought he had to kill her to keep on getting away with the lie," Abbie finished.

"And he had a scapegoat ready made." McCoy said bleakly.

"We'll never get this guy, Jack," Casey said. "He's gone, in witness protection."

"We have a print," Munch said. "That should get us a warrant, even given the new identity."

"Nothing to match it to," Cragen pointed out.

Olivia grinned, pulling an envelope out of her pocket. "Is this where I ask for a raise, Captain?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realise I am on shaky grounds with jurisdiction and prior bad acts. Any lawyers in the readership, please forgive me!


	43. Unwarranted

"Where did you get that?" Cragen asked. "No, wait – let me ask first, is it legal?"

"Totally," Olivia said triumphantly. "Witness Protection comes with conditions."

"Keep your nose clean, let Big Brother monitor your email, yada yada," Munch said.

"And co-operate fully with any investigation into criminal activity – including prints and DNA on file." Olivia opened the envelope and took out two folded pieces of paper. "When witness protection gave him a new identity they purged his prints from the state and local systems so he wouldn't have his cover blown if he blew over the limit at a traffic stop or something. That's why we didn't get any hits on the print in the Walters file. But Watts – or whatever his name is now – had to leave his prints with Fed Central or no new identity. And by the way, on the night in question he was supposedly by himself in his hotel room for five hours – but no-one had an eyeball on him. Dana Lewis made some calls for me. I took the prints to Beck – and they matched."

"That's gotta be worth a warrant, Mr McCoy," Cragen said.

"You better believe it," McCoy said, and Regan felt the tension in the room ramp up a notch, felt it like the electricity of a thunderstorm buzzing against her skin. "Chen, give me a couple of arrest warrants, would you? Casey, draft a subpoena for Phillip Watt's current name and identity. Regan, you're going to St. Andrew's Plaza for Gervits."

"Will he still be at work?" Regan asked Abbie.

"You think a man like that has a social life?" Abbie asked.

Chen was fumbling through his briefcase, looking for blank warrants as McCoy waited with increasing impatience. Regan pulled a pad of them out of her own case and handed them to Chen as unobtrusively as she could. The glare he gave her could have boiled water but he took the warrants to give to McCoy.

Casey finished filling in her subpoena. "I'll call a judge," she said. "But Jack – do you think there's any chance Gervits will co-operate?"

"He's got no choice," Abbie said. She was perched on Elliot's desk watching the others work, long legs dangling. "Those standard forms that have to be signed when people go into Witness Protection include acknowledgements that the deal is subject to continued good behaviour. We've got a solid case against him – a solid case he's violated the terms of his agreement. Gervits has to turn him over for that to be tested, because if it's true Watts loses his immunity, and he loses witness protection." She paused as McCoy handed Regan two arrest warrants and the subpoena. "That means he's not under our umbrella any more – he's just another suspect in a homicide."

Regan looked uncertainly at the papers she held. "Do you want me to serve these on Gervits?"

"Well it isn't a fucking social call, Regan!" McCoy snapped. "The subpoena's for Watt's current name and location. The first arrest warrant is a John Doe warrant for Watts, whatever he's calling himself today. And the second is in case Gervits doesn't co-operate."

Regan read the name on the second warrant. "You want me to arrest a  _US Attorney_? For  _hindering prosecution_?" She looked incredulously at McCoy. "He'll throw me out of the building!"

"Don't let him," McCoy said. "This is up to you, Regan. Get it right."

"Okay," Regan said, hoping he couldn't hear her voice shake. She put the papers in her briefcase and grabbed her coat.

"Jack, I can serve those papers," Casey said. "And I'd like to."

"No," McCoy said. "If Gervits gets 'physical' again, Regan can handle it. Can't you?" This last was directly to Regan, and she nodded. "And Regan? I don't think you'll need to use that last warrant – but don't ever make a threat you're not prepared to carry through, do you hear me? If you need to,  _use it_."

"I will," Regan said, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt. "Can I have some muscle?"

"Elliot, Finn, go with her," Cragen ordered. "And if you get Watts's identity from Gervits, go  _pick him up_. From  _wherever._ "

Regan tried to brace herself for confrontation on the ride down to One St Andrew's Plaza. Detectives Finn and Stabler were grim and taciturn. Regan could guess their feelings: if all went well, tonight might bring them face to face with the man they had been hunting, the man who had cold-bloodedly and deliberately beaten and raped a woman they knew and worked with.

_First things first_. They had to get past Gervits.  _And that's my job_.

Regan was surprised when she got to the office pointed out to her as Gervits's: she had imagined Gervits as a dour, threatening giant, a suitable arch-enemy to larger-than-life Jack McCoy. Instead, he was smaller, jowly, a frog of a man with popping eyes and a perpetually wet mouth.

Gervits might not have been as theatrically menacing as Regan had imagined, but he was as stubborn as McCoy had described. He flat out refused to co-operate with the subpoena and ordered her and the detectives to wait outside until he could get a judge on the phone to stay it.

"Detective Stabler," Regan said firmly, and Stabler took the receiver out of Gervits's hand and hung up the phone. " Mr Gervits, you are of course free to try and stay the subpoena, but until you do, it's in force. We require you to co-operate. If you don't, you will be in defiance of a court order and hindering prosecution, and you can try to get the subpoena stayed from the Tombs."

"You wouldn't dare!" Gervits spluttered. "You  _would not dare_!"

"I work for Jack McCoy," Regan said. "There's not a great deal I wouldn't dare to do."

"You can't prevent me from calling from my office phone!" Gervits said, pulling ineffectually at the receiver, clamped in place by Stabler's meaty hand.

"I have reason to believe you may attempt to frustrate the subpoena and warrant by ordering Phillip Watts moved to another name and location," Regan said. Gervits gaze flicked away from her, revealing her guess to be right. "I have to ask you to step outside your office while the detectives execute the subpoena."

Gervits didn't move. "Your career is  _over_ , Ms Markham."

"I have to  _insist_  you step outside the office, Mr Gervits," Regan said. Her heart pounded and her mouth was dry – she was as nervous as she had been the time she'd pulled a car over on a traffic stop, two months out of the academy, and seen the mayor's daughter behind the wheel. But back on that dark street she'd heard her Gran-Da remind her that when you carry a badge, you treat everybody the same from a beggar to the pope, and she'd put on her best blank expression and done her job – just as she was doing now. "Please come with me, Mr Gervits."

Finn took a step towards him and Gervits yielded to the inevitable. Regan followed him out into the corridor to make sure he didn't go to another office and make the call that would move Watts to a new location. He gave her a furious glare and strode away, forcing her to follow.

She trailed him down the corridor until he took a sudden left and pushed through a door. About to follow him, Regan saw MENS written on the door.

She stopped.  _At least I can be sure he isn't calling witness protection._

Then a cold second thought struck her.

_Where's his cell-phone?_

Finn and Stabler were up the other end of the hall.  _He could move the whole Costa Nostra to a new location by the time they get down here._

_Fuck it._

She pushed open the door and strode into the washroom.

There was a young lawyer at the urinal and he looked up, outraged. "Hey!" he said, "You can't be in here."

Regan barely looked at him. Gervits was at the other end of the room with his hand cupped to his ear. "Don't worry," Regan said to the angry attorney as she passed him, "I won't tell anyone what a small dick you have. Now zip up and get out." She reached Gervits and grabbed his wrist, yanking his hand away from his ear to reveal a cell-phone. Regan snatched it from him and held it to her own ear.

"Transferring you to witness services now," a young woman's voice said.

Regan cut off the connection and glared at Gervits. "This man killed one woman and tried to kill another – and you were going to protect him from justice because you don't like Manhattan ADAs?"

"You are way out of line, Ms Markham," Gervits said. He reached for the phone and Regan held it behind her, out of his reach. "That is  _my_  property!"

"I have reason to believe you intend to use it to frustrate a valid subpoena," Regan said.

"I intend to use it to call your boss and have you  _fired_!" Gervits said.

"Miss?" a voice said behind Regan. She glanced around and saw they had an audience: the young lawyer she'd interrupted, two security guards, and a couple of male bystanders. One of the security guards spoke again. "Miss, you really can't be in here. Is there a problem?"

"This woman has stolen my property!" Gervits said.

"I am an ADA from the Manhattan DAs Office and I am making sure this man does not obstruct the execution of a subpoena and arrest warrant," Regan countered.

Gervits grabbed for his phone again and again Regan held it out of his reach. He clutched at her arm, trying to pull her around so he could reach the phone in her hand. Regan braced herself against him and he pushed her away, hard enough to make her stagger a little. She regained her balance and saw, reflected in the mirror behind her, the security guards coming towards her with determined expressions.

_In twenty seconds they'll be dragging me out of here and Gervits will be calling his friend in Witness Services and we'll never see a hair on Phillip Watts's head_.

Gervits shoved her again and Regan made a split-second decision.

She let him.

He was expecting her resistance and he shoved her hard in the chest. She went over backwards, gracelessly, making no effort to regain her balance or get her feet under her or break her fall – and she fell hard on the tiled floor, bone-jarringly hard, felt her teeth tear her lip as her jaw snapped shut with the force of the impact.

She gasped, winded, and tasted blood, still clutching Gervits's cell-phone.

For a few shocked seconds no-one moved. Then Gervits, looking stunned, took a step towards her at the same moment as the security guards moved forwards.

"Hold him," Regan croaked, raising herself on her elbows. She sucked air and tried again: "Hold that man!"

"I didn't –" Gervits said. "You just –"

Regan sat all the way up and fumbled her ADA badge out of her pocket. She held it up so the security guards could see it. "Hold that man for arrest," she ordered. "And there are two police detectives in his office. Please call them down here."

"You can't – you can't!" Gervits spluttered. "I didn't – what?"

"You just assaulted an officer of the court in the performance of her duties," Regan said as the security guards moved to either side of Gervits. One of the bystanders came to Regan's side and crouched beside her. Regan let him help her to her feet, leaning on him perhaps more than she needed to – although it wasn't much exaggeration. She'd tried to keep her head up but had still taken a knock to the skull and the room shifted around her with any incautious movement.  _And I'll be black and blue tomorrow, no question._

"You're bleeding, miss," the man helping her said. Regan touched her mouth and look at her fingers: blood, a lot of it.

The washroom door banged opened and Finn and Stabler charged in. Stabler looked from Regan to Gervits and back and started forward, fists clenched. Regan grabbed his arm. "Arrest him, Detective. That's all. Assault in the second." She stared hard at Gervits. "That's a class D felony, in case you need brushing up on state law. What's the disciplinary committee going to say about that?"

Stabler took hold of Gervits arm. "Robert Gervits, I am arresting you for assault in the second degree. You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot –"

"I  _am_  an attorney, goddammit!" Gervits said.

"Afford an attorney one will be provided to you," Stabler continued smoothly.

"Now hold on, hold on!" Gervits said. He looked at Regan. "Ms Markham. Surely we can work this out?"

Regan looked at him for a long moment, letting him sweat. "Let's discuss this somewhere more appropriate," she said at last, and Gervits's shoulders slumped with relief.

Regan led the way back to Gervits's office, blotting at her bleeding lower lip with a paper towel, with Stabler and Finn escorting Gervits. They hadn't put him in handcuffs, but Finn had his pair out and in his hand, a pointed threat. Once they were inside the office, Stabler shut the door on the small but intensely interested crowd of late-working attorneys.

Very deliberately, Regan walked around the desk and sat down in Gervits's chair. Stabler and Finn positioned themselves either side of the US Attorney.

"Mr Gervits," Regan said, "I want Phillip Watts. I want him now. I don't want to discuss it with you. I don't want to traipse through the eternal purgatory of the appeals process.  _I want Phillip Watts._  Give him to me."

Gervits looked for an instant as if he were going to protest, but looked at Regan's face and clearly thought better of it. He swallowed. "All right," he said. "All right."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made all the stuff about Witness Protection up to make it easy for Olivia to get the prints.


	44. Big Plays

_Office of EADA Jack_   _McCoy_

_One Hogan Place_

_10.30 pm Friday 10th November 2006_

* * *

 

Jack McCoy ran his finger along the spines of the law books shelved above his couch, stopping when he reached 2003. He could barely see the embossed letters without the overhead light on, but at this time of night he preferred the desk lamp, even if it did cast the rest of the room into shadow.

As he pulled the volume from the shelf and turned to step off the couch, movement in the corridor caught his eye. Regan Markham was at his office door.

"Hey, Jack," she said, and there was a note of triumph in her voice. "We got the name. Stabler and Tutuola are on their way now – they went straight from St Andrews Plaza. I walked back."

"On their way to where?" McCoy asked, trying to make sense of her rush of words, an excited almost-babble very unlike Regan's usual lucid reports. Then, as she came into the room, he saw her more clearly. Even in the dim lit office, he could see that she was pale and her swollen lower lip had a dark crust. _A split lip - not something I'm ever likely to mistake._ "What happened? Your mouth - "

Regan swiped at her lip and her hand came away bloody. McCoy saw the fine tremor in her fingers and took a step towards her, tossing the law book down on the couch. "It's nothing," Regan said, turning away from him. She took an already-bloodstained paper towel from her pocket and blotted her lip, her movements a little jerky. "I took one for the team." Before McCoy could ask what she meant by that, Regan went on: "The Feebies have Watts – Michelson, he goes by at the moment – stashed up in Connecticut. Stabler and Tutuola are on their way – they'd appreciate a call to the local authorities in some place called Naugatuck to smooth the way, but Gervits handed over a Federal warrant to back up ours so it should be okay."

"Gervits handed over a Federal warrant?" McCoy said,  _that_  surprise pushing aside Regan's non-explanatory explanation of her injury.

Regan grinned in triumph and then winced and put her hand to her mouth. "Ow. Yes. He decided continuing to practice law in New York State was worth more than the satisfaction of forcing you to drag him through every division up to and including the Supreme Court to get your subpoena enforced." She tried to find a clean part of the paper towel, then gave up and tossed it in the wastepaper bin, crumpling it with what McCoy thought was excessive force. "Do you have a Kleenex?"

"Here." McCoy held out his handkerchief. "Use this. Kleenex sticks to the blood."

Regan looked at him sharply, perhaps hearing the bitter experience McCoy couldn't keep from colouring his voice, but she took the proffered handkerchief and pressed it against her lip.

"How did that happen?" McCoy asked her. "Did Gervits - ?"

"He pushed me," Regan said, a little indistinctly through the handkerchief. "I let him."

"Are you all right?" McCoy asked, trying to get a good look at her. "Did he hit you? Did he hurt you?"

"I'm a little bruised," Regan said. "Nothing serious. I've had worse playing basketball. Or learning to fight from my Grand-Da."

"What happened?" McCoy asked, not believing her. "Where were the detectives? Come on, sit down."

"In his office. See, I figured security was going to drag me out of the men's room, so – "

McCoy held up his hands, shaking his head. "No, no, no. Start from the beginning. Sit down, and start from the beginning."

Regan took the visitor's chair by his desk, not the couch McCoy had indicated. Pausing occasionally to blot the slowly-welling blood from her lip, she described Gervits's reaction to the warrant, her own conviction he was trying to frustrate the subpoena, the way she had stormed into the washroom and grabbed his phone, and finally the way she had manoeuvred Gervits into giving her grounds for a felony arrest. As she talked a quiver crept into her voice.

"So then I threatened him with a felony arrest and disbarment," Regan finished, sounding a little stunned at her own moxie.

"That was a big play," McCoy said, keeping his voice neutral.  _A big play that might not have worked – but it did. Reckless – but successful._ The impulse to tell Regan off for putting herself and her career at risk warred with the knowledge that she'd pulled something that might have come straight out of the Jack McCoy playbook, in spirit if not in substance.

"Yeah." Regan sounded like had only just realised that herself. "I was –" she stopped and looked away, then shrugged and didn't go on.

"You were?" McCoy asked, gently insistent.

"Less afraid of him than of disappointing  _you_ ," Regan said in a rush, blinking rapidly.

"Don't get yourself disbarred trying to impress me," McCoy said, smiling a little to show her it was half a joke.

"How about getting myself disbarred making the case?" Regan asked.

"I'd prefer you avoid disbarment – and physical injury – altogether," McCoy said curtly.

"I didn't do anything wrong," Regan said, sounding as if she was trying to convince  _herself_  as much as McCoy. "I didn't  _make_  Gervits try to get Watts moved. I didn't  _make_  him start wrestling with me when I stopped him from doing it. I just let myself be any ordinary lady ADA when he did."

"You tanked the fight," McCoy said. "And in your opinion, is that ethical?"

"So I took a dive," Regan said. "It wasn't entrapment. If a guy steals my purse, and I could chase him down and beat him up to get it back but I don't, is he less a thief than if he steals the purse of some little old lady who didn't have the option? What would you have done?"

"Gervits would never have tried it on  _me_ ," McCoy said. As Regan reasoned out her justification he had thought back to Casey, shaken and bruised in the SVU squad room, and his own decision to send Regan Markham to serve the subpoena instead of going himself.  _"I play to win_ ,"  _she'd said, having just gone close to the line and maybe off it to do just that. That was why I sent her. To play to win – big plays included._ "No matter what I said or did, I could never have baited him _that_ far. Why do you think I sent  _you_?"

It took Regan a second to catch on, and then she gave him a tiny, shy smile. "You didn't say – you didn't tell me what I should do."

"I admit, I didn't expect you to come back here bruised and bleeding," McCoy said. "But I was certain you'd turn  _anything_ he did to your advantage. To  _our_ advantage." He took the scotch bottle and two glasses from his bottom drawer and poured them both a generous slug, making Regan's the larger measure. "Drink that," he said, walking around the desk to set the glass in front of her. "Medicinal purposes." He leaned against the desk and watched her pick up the glass, the liquor shivering with the tremor in her hand. Regan steadied the glass with both hands as McCoy raised his own in salute. "To the majors," he said.

Regan drank, then hissed in pain as the alcohol stung her lip. McCoy could see a trace of blood coiling slowly in the scotch as she set the glass back down and reached for the handkerchief he'd lent her.

He took it from her hand. "Here," he said. "Let me." Regan made a wordless noise of protest as he leaned towards her and McCoy paused. "You'll never stop it bleeding the way you're going. Let me." He reached out again. This time Regan did not protest, although she looked uncertain, and McCoy pressed the soft cloth firmly against her bleeding lip, sliding his other hand around the back of her neck to hold her head still.

As he bent over her he could see the smudges of fatigue beneath her eyes, eyes that watched him warily. Regan was tense and still in the chair, her neck as rigid as the stone neck of Blind Justice at the courthouse.  _Mistrustful,_  McCoy thought,  _and I've given her reason to be_.  _For all she knows I'm about to take this opportunity to pry into her personal life, or browbeat her for putting herself in harm's way. That's the Jack_   _McCoy she's familiar with, after all._

He was as near to her as he had been that long night after she had dragged him out of the bar to make sure he got home safely, then sat with him for all the dark hours until dawn. Since then McCoy had found that on the edge of sleep, the black nightmare of Alex Borgia's dead eyes was banished by the memory of Regan's fingers running gently through his hair, of her voice murmuring gently  _Go to sleep. I'm here._

He was as near to her now as he had been in that moment, but nowhere near as close.

A stray thought struck him:  _Who sits with Regan until the night passes?_

"Hold still a little longer," McCoy said quietly. "Almost done."

And then, whether it was the gentleness of his voice or simply that she was at last too tired to keep her guard up, Regan closed her eyes and the tension ebbed from the muscles beneath his hand. McCoy could see tears shining on her eyelashes. He held the handkerchief against her lip a little longer than perhaps was necessary as Regan leaned trustingly against his supporting arm.  _Better to be safe than sorry_ , he told himself.

"There," he said, putting the handkerchief down on his desk and gently easing her back in the chair.

Regan opened her eyes slowly. She raised a hand to her mouth and lightly ran her fingers over her lips. "Thank you," she said.

"Are you  _sure_ you're all right?" McCoy asked. "You don't want to see a doctor?"

Regan shook her head slowly. "I'm not really hurt," she said softly. "I was just really scared."

"No reason to be," McCoy told her. "You did good."

The tears he had seen on her lashes fell then, Regan wiping quickly at her cheeks with her fingers in a useless effort to hide them. "I didn't think – I wasn't sure you still wanted me near the case."

"Because you didn't return a phone call?"

"Because I was a wrong cop."

"Regan, I know you weren't a wrong cop," McCoy said. "I've been a prosecutor long enough to spot a lie." He studied her for a second. "Maybe I've been a prosecutor too long to spot the questions that shouldn't be asked."

Regan shrugged a little, gaze fixed on her hands in her lap. "You to want to know who you're working with. You have a right. But I – I  _can't_ , Jack. Just know - there's nothing on my jacket to embarrass the DA. Nothing. No excessive force complaints,  _nothing_. I was  _a good cop_. That's all I ever wanted to be. And now …"

"And now?" McCoy prompted when she didn't go on.

Regan looked up at him where he leaned against the desk, eyes narrowed as if she stared at the sun. "And now I'm not." She picked up her drink and tossed back the rest of her scotch, teeth chattering a little on the glass. Banging the glass back on McCoy's desk, she opened her mouth as if to say something else, but stopped, pressing her fingers to her lips as if to silence herself.

Wordlessly, McCoy reached out and laid his fingers on the back of her hand, gently drawing it away from her mouth.  _Go on,_  he urged her silently, holding her gaze, waiting patiently.

Regan looked at him and looked away, then closed her eyes as if there were things she could only say in the dark. "And I get so tired," she whispered, a thread of sound McCoy had to strain to hear. "I'm just so tired."

"Maybe you should take a few days off," McCoy said.

Eyes still closed, tears spilling down her cheeks, Regan nodded. "When we get this guy," she whispered. "Maybe when we get this guy."

McCoy closed his fingers around hers and for a second Regan returned his grip fiercely. Then she let go and pulled free, wiping away tears with her palms. "Look at me," she said shakily, trying to smile, "a double scotch on an empty stomach and I'm a complete mess!" She stood up quickly, turning away so McCoy could no longer see her face.

"I've heard that  _in vino veritas_ ," McCoy said, not moving from where he leaned against his desk, his long legs stretched out in Regan's way so she couldn't head for the door.

" _In vino_  maybe  _veritas_ ," Regan said, "But in whiskey usually bullshit, or that's what my Gran-Da used to say." When McCoy didn't move out of her way she stepped over his legs, gaze down, face averted from his. "If you can call Naugatuck, maybe even Mr Branch could, kiss a little ass, make everything go smoothly – don't want the wheels to fall off now - although I suppose it's a little late to call – would it be better to risk it, or –" She was buttoning her coat as she turned to the door, keeping her face from him, talking nineteen to the dozen as if her life depended on filling the air between them with sound.

McCoy reached out and hooked one finger in the cuff of her coat sleeve, the lightest of restraints, easy for Regan to ignore – but she stopped still, and fell silent. The quiet flowed back into the room as neither of them moved: McCoy propped against his desk in the circle of light cast by the lamp, Regan half turned away in the shadow, his arm reaching forward, hers back. McCoy saw that their hands met at precisely the edge of the pool of light.

He tugged gently at her sleeve and Regan turned slowly to face him.

"There's a pizza place two blocks from here that'll still be open," he said. "Let me buy you a piece of pie to soak up that scotch."

She smiled tentatively, careful of her lip. "Sounds good," she said.

McCoy raised his glass in a mock toast. "All right then," he said. "To Naugatuck."

He swallowed the last mouthful of scotch.

"Here's to Naugatuck," Regan agreed as McCoy grabbed his coat.

"And here's to neither of us being the ones driving up there tonight," McCoy said, switching off the desk lamp and ushering her towards the hall.

That got a small but genuine laugh from Regan. "Amen to that!" she said. " _Amen_  to that."


	45. Wrong Guy

_Squad room_

_SVU_

_16th Precinct._

_6.35 am Saturday 11 November 2006_

* * *

 

"Fuck Naugatuck," Finn said sourly. He stretched and winced. "And fuck that car. Did I piss off someone in motor pool? Do they deliberately save the ones with absolutely  _no_  suspension for the days I have to drive seven hours?"

"Getting old, man," Elliot said, grinning. "Back goes, soon you'll be wearing reading glasses."

"Yeah, and fuck you too," Finn said. "What do you think of this guy?"

"I think he did it," Elliot said simply.

They both turned almost involuntarily to look across the squad room to the interview room. Behind the door, Phillip Watts was waiting.  _And fuck him, let him wait,_  Elliot thought.

"Yeah, me too," Finn said. "He's – off. Like that Florida cop said. You get a nose for it, in this job."

"Let's hope Jack McCoy can show that to a jury," Elliot said.

Finn shook his head. "He's smooth. He's gonna look good on the stand."

Elliot shook his head but he knew Finn was right. Four hours with Phillip Watt had convinced both detectives that this man was – every cop had a different way of putting it – a  _wrong guy_ , a  _bad guy_ ,  _hinky_ ,  _off_ ,  _no good_.

Not all perps were  _wrong guys_. Even in Special Victims, there were the ones who'd committed  _this_ crime, in  _this_ way, because of the circumstances they found themselves in – men and women who at a different time in a different place would have lived their whole lives without tangling with the law. But the ones like Phillip Watts …  _if he didn't hurt Mary_  Elliot thought,  _it's a matter of time before he hurts someone else. If he didn't kill Carla_   _Firienze, doughnuts to dollars he killed someone – or will._

_Wrong guy. Off._

Nothing you could tell a jury. Huang might have some fancy words for it, for the way, every so often, Watts's eyes said one thing while his mouth said something else. The slightly-too-long pause in the conversation while his non-quite-right brain worked out what a normal man would say, the smile when nothing was funny.

_Hinky. Wrong guy._

The jury would never see it. Even if they could have read the same signals that Finn and Elliot had picked up on the long drive, the carefully controlled arena of the court would ensure they never saw anything other than a nice, normal businessman, well-dressed and well-groomed.

"Is McCoy on his way?" Finn asked.

"So I hear," Elliot said. He yawned, and stretched. They'd driven through the night to get Watts back to Manhattan . A couple of hours sleep in the crib didn't make up for it. "And Casey. And Watts's lawyer."

"Who's that?"

" Neil Gorton," a voice from the squad room door said. "Pleased to meet you. I hope you haven't been interviewing my client without his lawyer present."

Elliot turned and looked Gorton up and down. "Don't worry, counsellor," he said. "This one has been strictly by the book."

"That's not what I hear," Gorton said. "Where's Jack McCoy?"

"On his way. Would you like some coffee while you wait?"

"I'd like to speak to my client while I wait," Gorton said.

"Well, why don't you come with me, counsellor, and we'll arrange that," Elliot said, already hating Gorton – and usually it took at least five minutes before he was ready to pummel a defence lawyer – but determined not to give any high-priced attorney an excuse to go for a dismissal.

Twenty minutes later, when McCoy arrived at the precinct, he filled the detectives in on Neil Gorton and his history with the DA's Office.

"He was married to Judge  _Ross_?" Olivia said, her expression saying all that needed to be said about the prospect.

"And they have a daughter," McCoy said, "To whom they are both devoted – in their different ways. But in the courtroom, Gorton is a very highly paid shark. He'll drown the prosecution case in high-priced experts. He'll have forty fingerprint analysts to explain what's wrong with the match that Beck made in the police lab. If he can't shake the ID, he'll have a dozen psychiatrists and sociologists to explain the unreliability of IDs."

"You're not scared of him, are you, Jack?" Casey asked.

"I've beaten him before and I'll do it again," McCoy said. "I'm just warning you – it'll be a long, tough fight if he's representing Watts."

"Should we get this interview started?" Elliot asked. " Mr McCoy, the viewing room – "

"No," McCoy said. " Gorton knows I'll be first chair on this case. There's no point trying to play him with Casey. I'll be in the box with you, detective. Sorry, Casey."

"I want to get the sonofabitch, Jack," Casey said. "If you want me to buy the fucking coffee, I'll smile and ask how you take it." She paused. "Actually, that's probably not true. But I  _will_ sit in observation."

After thirty minutes with Gorton and Watts, Elliot envied Casey. Watts made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, his smooth charm broken again and again by that eerie  _wrongness_  in response, in emotion. And of all the defence lawyers Elliot had dealt with, Neil Gorton was the one who most made Elliot want to smack him in the head.

Elliot stole a glance at Jack McCoy. The EADA didn't seem to be having any trouble keeping his cool.

Elliot's hands were in his lap to hide the involuntary clenching of his fists whenever Gorton added an extra, drawling syllable to 'Mary', refering to her in an almost taunting singsong as 'the alleged victim of this alleged crime, Ma-ary Firienze,' as often as he could. Elliot knew Gorton could tell how angry it made both cops in the room, and that was why he was doing it. He kept his hands out of sight and kept his face as blank as he could.

Jack McCoy's hands lay on the table, completely still except when he idly leafed through the file he held. He leaned back comfortably in the interview room chair. Elliot saw with some incredulity that McCoy even had a slight smile of amusement as Gorton told him that he'd never get an indictment with FBI agents as alibi witnesses.

"I have a fingerprint," McCoy said. "I have  _your client's_  fingerprint on the photograph that Mary Firienze's attacker used to stage the attack on her. I have a video of Mary Firienze as she was found. I have twelve men and women in the jury box. And you know very well, Neil, that's all I need. Your client is going to jail. I'm here today to give you a chance to discuss how long  _for_."

"You have no ID. You have no physical evidence placing him at the scene. If you had either of those things you would have told me about them by now. You have a fingerprint that  _nobody_  could tell you got on that photo that night. And  _that's all_."

"It's not true we have no ID," McCoy said. He turned a page and took out the ID sketch of Mr Tan Coat. "Your client was seen going into the building. We'll be putting him in a line-up later today."

"Then isn't it a little premature to talk about plea bargaining, Jack?"

_Good fucking question_ , Elliot thought. He couldn't believe McCoy was even  _considering_  a bargain with Watts.

"On the contrary, it's precisely the last time I'm going to have interest in discussing plea bargaining. After our witness identifies Mr Watts, they he has absolutely nothing to offer me – and I have no interest in a deal."

"You know I'll demolish any ID witness on the stand," Gorton said.

"And you know I'll rehabilitate them on cross," McCoy countered. "And I hope you're not thinking you can keep Florida and Carla Firienze out of the courtroom. They jury will hear  _all about_ Mary's sister, and Mary's suspicions. They'll see the motive plain and clear."

"On the contrary," Gorton said, "I have no intention of trying to keep the Firienze murder out of the trial. It is crucial to our defence. You look puzzled, Jack, detectives. Let me give you a preview." He half turned in his chair and clapped Watts on the shoulder. "My client here, having suffered the terrible trauma of having his fiancée murdered, had to further endure the suspicion of the police – and the victim's family. Although charges were never laid, Carla's sister Mary became  _obsessed_  with the idea that Mr Watts had murdered her sister and got away with it. She was  _consumed_ with planning revenge – whatever it took, whatever it cost her. Are you beginning to get the picture here Jack?"

"The jury won't buy it," McCoy said, but Elliot didn't hear a ring of conviction in his voice.

"They nearly did last time, didn't they, Jack?" Gorton said.

"The defence didn't get an acquittal with those tactics and neither will you," McCoy retorted.

"It cost you a contempt citation and a night in the Tombs, though, didn't it, Jack? And I believe the defendant's walking around free, isn't he?" Gorton countered. "And so will Mr Watts be – although of course he won't be Mr Watts – when the jury realises that the only thing linking him to this crime is the obsession of a woman unable to find closure after the horrible murder of her sister."

" _Your client_ had just realised he might have to face the music on that murder," McCoy snapped. "If Mary had found out about the falseness of his alibi – "

"And if my dog had hooves he'd be a pony," Gorton said. "You can't get any of that in." He took a piece of paper from his file and laid it on the table. "When Mr Watts turned over that tape to the FBI he extracted from them a deal that it would  _never_ be used against him in  _any_ criminal proceeding."

"How foresighted," McCoy said sourly.

"Why thank you," Gorton said. "As his lawyer, I accept your compliment. Tape is  _out_ , which means possibility of the alibi is  _out_ , which means you have no motive."

"I have plenty of evidence," McCoy said. "And now we know exactly what we're looking for, there'll be more. Someone who saw him sneak out of the hotel room. A fingerprint – maybe in the fire-escape. A cab driver. A strand of hair in the hallway of Mary's flat." For the first time in the interview, he leaned forward, speaking directly to Phillip Watts. " Mr Watts. Your lawyer is very good. But I've beaten him before. He'd rather risk everything looking for a win – because he's not the one going to jail for attempted murder in the first degree. That's an A1 felony, Mr Watts. Twenty five to life – if you're lucky. Do yourself a favour and make a deal. I'll give you aggravated sex assault and assault. You could be out before you're ready for a nursing home."

"I'm not stupid, Mr McCoy," Watts said. "If I please guilty, that has the same effect on my deal with the FBI as a conviction. Whether I do four years or forty, any jail time at all, I'm a dead man."

" Mr McCoy knows that, Phillip," Gorton said. "I believe he's encountered similar circumstances before – although he was the one getting screwed with his pants on, not doing the screwing." Gorton smiled without a trace of humour. "Now the State of New York won't let you get defendants strapped to that gurney anymore, you're getting inventive. Would this be the second time you manipulated the criminal underclass into carrying out the sentence that you as judge and jury decided they deserved?"

McCoy did not return Gorton's smile. "You're on thin ice, Neil."

"Not as far out as you," Gorton countered. "Detectives, Mr McCoy might be trying to boost your morale by telling you he's beaten me and my firm before. Did he mention that it was with the help of my ex-wife? Who is – oh, I believe she left the DA's Office long ago, dismayed by the ethical and moral quagmire she found in EADA Jack McCoy's office."

"Since she joined the DA's Office out of disgust with your practice, your clients and your tactics," McCoy said, "I'm not sure what that says about  _you_." He pushed back his chair and stood up. "The offer expires when the line-up starts. Think about it, Mr Watts."

Outside the interview room, Elliot caught McCoy's arm. "You're not going to make a deal with him, are you?"

"Unless you can bring me a case I can prosecute, I'll be lucky to make a deal," McCoy said. Casey opened her mouth and he raised a hand to silence her. "I don't like it either. But that defence – it's good one. It will raise just enough doubt."

" Jack, you and I can tear it apart," Casey said. "And we  _will_  find more evidence. We can nail him."

McCoy looked back through the viewing window to where Gorton and Watts sat talking. "I think we're going to have to," he said sombrely. " Gorton won't deal. We're going to have to win this in the courtroom."

"And we will," Casey said. " Olivia, come on. While the boys get some sleep, we're going to wake up CSU and get them over to the hotel the FBI had Watts holed up in. Then we're going to make sure every cabbie in New York sees that drawing. Come on!"

Elliot watched them go and then turned to McCoy. "We found this guy," he said. "Now you have to lock him up. Now it's up to you, Counsellor."

"I know," McCoy said. He ran his hand over his face wearily. "Believe me, detective.  _I know_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The case referred to, with the murdered sister and the attempted frame, is in the episode "Patsy".


	46. Open Doors

_Office of EADA Jack_   _McCoy_

_One Hogan Place_

_7.00 am Monday 13 November 2006_

* * *

 

" Jack?" Regan Markham tapped on McCoy's open door. He waved her in without looking up from the file he was reading, and she sat down opposite him and waited.

Regan had spent part of Saturday and most of Sunday as part of the volunteer team of police and prosecutors using their own time to run down possible leads on Phillip Watts. After the ID witness from Mary Firienze's building had come in and picked Watts out of a line-up on Saturday morning – Regan smiled at the memory of Detective John Munch hunkered down singing about Dorothy the Dinosaur with the witness's small son – she had spent the afternoon going around cab depots with his picture, checking work rosters, trying to make sure every cabbie working that night was asked if they'd picked up Phillip Watts or a man who might fit his description. Sunday had been more of the same, with a mid-afternoon break to take care of some of her outstanding paperwork on the other cases that didn't stop arriving on her desk from the Complaints Room just because a prosecutor had been beaten down.

Regan's path and Jack McCoy's hadn't crossed. Regan had been a little relieved.

On Friday night she'd urged Finn and Stabler on their way without hesitation, all of them buzzing with urgency, knowing Phillip Watts was just a few hours drive away. Regan herself had been thrumming with the left-over adrenalin from her confrontation with Gervits, and the physical shock of the fall. It wasn't until she had watched the cops' tail-lights disappear and turned to walk back to Hogan Place that the adrenaline had begin to ebb, leaving her shaky and punchy. By the time she had trudged all the way to the DA's Office her head and lip were throbbing, her back ached and she was fighting both nausea and tears.

It was nothing new – but back in Seattle she'd have been surrounded by men and women who knew exactly how the rollercoaster went. She wouldn't have been struggling across the foyer by herself with trembling knees and a roiling stomach. Somebody else would be making a report, or making excuses, while Regan ran water on her wrists or drank sweet milky coffee in the locker room. Back then, there would have  _been_  somebody else.

Back then, she wouldn't have been alone.

But the world had turned, and things had changed, and all the wanting and the wishing couldn't change them back.

_You can keep it together_ , Regan'd told herself, pressing the button for the 10th floor with fingers that were almost steady.  _You can do it._

But she hadn't. By the time she'd finished telling the story to McCoy she'd been doing her best to hide the shivers that wracked her. She might have managed to hold herself together long enough to get out of his office, even so, if not for the scotch.  _The scotch and –_

_His hand cradles her head as he looks down at her, gaze intent on the cloth he holds against her lip. "Hold still a little longer," McCoy says quietly. "Almost done."_

_She can't do this alone. And Jack_   _McCoy is the only one there, and no matter how much Regan wants to be cool and professional, his unexpected kindness breaks her._

Late-night Friday had been like a limbo where she could eat pizza with Hang 'Em High McCoy and laugh at his jokes and be warmed by his charm – and be put into a cab by him when the food and the alcohol and the company finally wiped the last remnants of the adrenaline from her system and she found her head nodding involuntarily over the red-checked tablecloth.

_It had been just like having a partner._

But Regan'd learnt already that late night détente and even rapprochement with Jack McCoy didn't necessarily last. And here she was on Monday morning wondering how he'd see her when he looked up from his papers. She wanted him to see a competent lawyer – maybe if she was lucky a competent lawyer who could get the job done no matter what. She was afraid he'd see the tear-stained wreck he'd taken pity on.

When McCoy finally looked up from his papers and smiled, she relaxed a little.

"You look better," he said, gesturing to his own lip.

"I feel better," she assured him.

"Get some rest?"

"Some. Jack, I – on Friday, I – "

"Did you get plastered and have to be dragged out of a bar?" he asked brusquely.

"You know I didn't – oh."

"Jobs like ours come with their fair share of bad days," McCoy said.

"Well, I have another one right here," Regan said, taking the opportunity to change the subject. She held up the blue-back she was carrying. "Application to revisit bail from Edward Walters lawyer. This morning, 8.30."

"Koehler?"

"Yep."

"I can't be there," McCoy said. "I've got to be in front of Larkin with a Mapp hearing. Can you handle it?"

Regan hesitated. "I don't know. I don't think so." McCoy looked at her sharply and Regan flushed miserably and looked down. "I'm sorry. Heinlin – I think he's too good. And he's going to run the 'persecution by the DA's Office' line and I don't know how to beat it."

"Argue the facts," McCoy said. "The police made a legitimate decision to focus on Walters as a suspect until other evidence presented itself. Meanwhile, we have a very strong case against him to Levy and he's a clear danger to the public."

" _Was_  it a legitimate decision?" Regan asked. "We pushed awfully hard."

"You mean  _I_  pushed awfully hard," McCoy countered.

"Yeah I do," Regan said. "And we both know why. He's going to tie me in knots, Jack. I know you need someone to handle it, but I don't think I can win it."

McCoy drove his hand through his hair. "I can't send Chen. See if Casey Novak can make it."

"Okay," Regan said.

When she called Casey, the senior ADA said she'd try to make the hearing but she'd be hurrying to make it across from another pre-trial hearing and could Regan meet her outside Koehler's chambers with the paperwork?

However, when 8.30 am came Regan found herself standing alone outside Koehler's chambers looking up and down the corridor for Casey Novak.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she checked the screen. STUCK – HANDLE IT – CASEY said the text message.

_Shit_.

Justice Koehler wasn't sympathetic to Regan's suggestion that they wait for Casey to arrive. "If the DA's Office can't send competent counsel, Ms Markham, then they can live with the consequences."

"Yes, your honour," Regan said.

Heinlin had arranged for his client to be brought across from Rikers Island for the hearing, which Regan had not expected. From his chair near the door Walters winked at her. Regan turned her back on him. She caught Heinlin watching her speculatively and realised that Heinlin had anticipated Walters upsetting her.

_Smart plan_. She could feel the rapist's eyes on her back.  _Focus. Focus, girl, focus._ Old man's voice, creaky but still strong. _Let them get on top of you and you lose control of the situation. Lose control of the situation and they'll tear you to pieces. All you have is a gun and a badge and your authority. The first two are worthless without the last. Focus, girl. Focus!_

Regan made her back straight and her face blank, as if Walters wasn't even in the room.

" Mr Heinlin," Justice Koehler said, "It was my understanding we'd already settled this question. Do you have new arguments to make?"

"I do indeed, your honour. The police have arrested another man for the crime they suspected my client to have committed."

"Is this true, Ms Markham?"

" Mr Walters remains the main and only suspect for the brutal rape and murder of Annie Levy," Regan said. "It is true, the police have arrested another man for a different assault which initially appeared to be related to the murder of Annie Levy but since that crime was later found to be unrelated, that can have no bearing – "

"Ah, but you only say they're unrelated because you've concluded my client  _didn't_ commit the assault against Mary Firienze," Heinlin said. "A syllogistic error, your honour, borne out of the DA's refusal to accept that my client might be innocent of  _both_ crimes."

"The error is not the People's, your honour," Regan countered. " Mr Heinlin wants to insist these two  _unconnected_ crimes are connected to clear his client of the crime he  _did_  commit because we are not charging him with the other."

"Look at the facts, your honour," Heinlin said. "EADA McCoy is pursuing a vendetta against my client. It began when he suspected Mr Walters of harassing his _current_  assistant, Ms Markham, and his  _former_  lover, Ms Firienze – "

"Now hold on just a moment," Regan snapped. "No evidence of  _any_  personal relationships has been presented to the court. And it would be irrelevant in  _any_ case."

"And continued when Ms Firienze's unfortunate attack was wrongly attributed to my client," Heinlin continued.

"Your  _client_ , Mr Heinlin, was a viable suspect and the police treated him as such," Regan said. "It's hardly unusual for the police to pursue several lines of inquiry before solving a crime. In this case your client was an early suspect in the Firienze case, cleared by subsequent investigation, which has  _nothing_ to do with – "

"If the same man attacked both Annie Levy and Mary Firienze, it has  _everything_  to do with this bail hearing," Heinlin said.

"How about it, Ms Markham?" Koehler asked.

"I am reluctant to give Mr Gorton's colleague a preview of the People's case against Mr Gorton's client," Regan said. "Suffice it to say that we believe the man who attacked Mary Firienze used Mr Walters's earlier crime as a template, having found the case file in Ms Firienze's briefcase."

"Should she have been carrying that around?" Koehler asked, frowning.

"If she recovers from her profound coma, I'm sure your honour can reprimand her for poor document handling," Regan said.

Koehler looked Regan up and down. "How long have you been working with Jack McCoy?"

"A couple of months," Regan answered, surprised.

"Really? Such a short time, to so thoroughly acquire his  _smartass_ manner," Koehler said sourly.

"I apologise, your honour," Regan said. "The fact remains, these crimes were committed by two different people. Our case against Mr Walters is solid. Mr Heinlin has not brought any challenges to the People's evidence in pre-trial hearings. He has rehearsed this fiction of a vendetta before your honour before. It is no more convincing now than it was then."

"We are prepared to go to Rosario," Heinlin said.

" _But you haven't_ ," Regan said.

"She's right, Mr Heinlin. You've got nothing new."

"I have an offer to post bail of one million bond," Heinlin said.

" _One million!_ " Regan's voice cracked in astonishment.

"I find myself for once in complete agreement with the prosecution," Koehler said. "Has your client come into an unusually large inheritance?"

"My firm is willing to post the bail," Heinlin said.

"The firm in which Neil Gorton is a partner?" Regan said.

"That happens to be the case, coincidentally," Heinlin said.

"You are going to post bond for your client to the tune of  _one million_?" Koehler asked incredulously.

"Your honour, this is a blatant attempt to create grounds for reasonable doubt in the trial of  _both_  defendants represented by the firm," Regan said hotly.

"By posting  _bail_?" Koehler asked.

"Who knows what enticements have been held out to Mr Walters in exchange for such an extensive and generous offer?" Regan asked, and as the words left her lips she thought  _too far._ Koehler's face closed and he glared at her.

"That is an extraordinary imputation to level against a well-respected defence attorney!"

"I apologise, your honour, to Mr Heinlin and to you," Regan said hastily, back-pedalling as fas as she could. "I misspoke in my astonishment at the extraordinary _generosity_ , indeed, perhaps  _unprecedented_  generosity, by Mr Heinlin and his firm."

"We are committed to our client and we have faith in his innocence," Mr Heinlin said urbanely.

"As good defence attorneys ought to be," Koehler said approvingly. Regan felt her stomach clench and tasted acid.  _Here we go. Here we fucking go._ "All right, Mr Heinlin, in light of the new arrest of a different suspect in this identical crime, and –"

" _Your honour!_ " Regan cried in outrage and disbelief.

"Be  _quiet_ , Ms Markham. In light of this new arrest and the offer of bond for a one million dollar bail, I order Edward Walters to be released on bail of one million dollars cash or bond."

" _Your honour!_ " Regan said again. " Edward Walters is a danger to the community.  _Five minutes_  after being released on bail the last time he menaced  _me_. How will a bond paid with  _someone else's money_  guarantee the good behaviour of this dangerous violent criminal?"

"I think you mean this  _alleged_  dangerous violent criminal," Heinlin said, and Koehler nodded approvingly. "Our firm will guarantee Mr Walter's behaviour."

"I'll bet you will," Regan hissed at him. Heinlin gave her a bland smile.

"My order is made, Ms Markham. Mr Heinlin, you know the drill."

Too angry to stay in the room, Regan grabbed her briefcase and turned on her heel. She had to push past Walters to get to the door and he grinned insolently at her.

"See you  _later_ , babe," he whispered.

"Me and my glock can hardly wait," Regan snapped, shouldered him aside and got through the door.

Casey was waiting in the hall. "I'm sorry, I got so hung up and then when I got here I thought it was better not to interrupt. What – it didn't go well?"

"Gorton's firm just posted a million dollars bail for Edward Walters," Regan said tightly.

" _What_?" Casey said.

"You need me to spell it?" Regan snapped. "He's out." Over Casey's shoulder she saw McCoy approaching and closed her eyes for a second.

McCoy must have been able to tell from her expression that it was no good news. "What happened?' he asked sharply.

" Larry Heinlin just put Neil Gorton's law firm in the red for bond on one million. Walters is on the street," Regan said.

"Regan!" McCoy said, "What the hell – "

Regan held up her hand to stop him before he could say anything further.  _What the hell happened, what the hell did you do, what the hell were you thinking …_

"Don't," she said. "Don't say it, just – don't." She turned away from them both and walked a few steps down the hall, pressing the back of her hand against her mouth.

"Regan?" Casey said, following her. The senior ADA put her hand on Regan's arm. "You have to play what you have."

"That's what I said to Mary," Regan said. "The last time I saw her. That's what I said to Mary."

"It's true," Casey said.

"This is not about Edward Walters, Casey," Regan said. She turned around and saw McCoy nodding as she spoke. "It's about Watts. If Walters attacks another woman between now and the trial, then we'll never get a conviction on Watts."

Before either McCoy or Casey could say anything, the door to Koehler's chambers opened and Larry Heinlin came out, followed by Edward Walters. Heinlin walked past the prosecutors with a nod and a smile, but Walters loitered for a moment, looking at Regan and Casey. He gave a big lascivious smile, and then raised one hand, two fingers outstretched like a kid playing cowboys and Indians, aimed right at Regan.

"Bang," he mouthed, dropping his thumb like the hammer of a revolver.

The corridor went dim. Regan couldn't breathe, her chest too tight, as if an iron band was compressing her lungs. She tasted blood.

_Bang_.

Her knees wanted to give way. She fought to keep her feet. She could barely see through the haze at the edge of her vision.

_Bang._

All she could hear was the screaming.

_Go down and you're gone. Go down and you're gone._

_Bang_.

Screaming and screaming and the gun so heavy in her hand and she's so tired and he's screaming and screaming and screaming…

_If a man draws down on you_ , she heard her Gran-Da say,  _you better put him in the ground._

_Bang._

_Then or later._

But she didn't have a gun anymore. Did she? Then why was it so heavy in her hand?

_Man draws down on you, girl, put him in the ground._

_Then or later._

"Regan!" McCoy's voice was sharp. Regan blinked sweat from her eyes and saw Walters walking away down the hall. She swallowed, trying to clear the taste of blood from her mouth.

"You okay?" she asked Casey, cleared her throat and tried again. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Casey said, and Regan turned away, wiping her face with the sleeve of her jacket.  _Not even a gun pointed at me, a man with his fingers stuck out and I'm there, **again** , in the room,  **again**. _ Her knees trembled. She wanted to sit down. She turned back to McCoy and Casey and saw them staring at her.

"Are  _you_  okay?" Casey asked.

"Skipped breakfast," Regan lied.

_Man draws down on you, girl …_

_Put him in the ground._

_Then -_

_Or later._

But that was a voice that belonged to her old life, old man's hard-won wisdom, a life-time on the force distilled down to rules for Regan to live by.

The world had turned.

The rules had changed.


	47. Big News

_Office of EADA Jack_   _McCoy_

_One Hogan Place_

_2 pm_   _Monday 13 November 2006_

* * *

 

"Abbie!" McCoy said, delighted. "I didn't expect you today!" He pushed aside the opening argument he was drafting and stood up.

"My secretary said you'd called – I was downstairs so I thought I'd drop by," Abbie Carmichael said. "Hope that's okay?"

"Of course it is," McCoy said. "Come in, sit down. Here, move those. There." He cleared a chair for her and drew it to the corner of the desk. "You want coffee?"

"No. I'm fine, Jack." Abbie lowered herself into the chair.

"You look tired," McCoy said, studying her. "Actually, you don't look so well, Abs."

"I'm okay," she said, and shrugged. Her smile seemed lacklustre and McCoy frowned.

"How's Tom?" he asked.

"Tom's back in Iraq. 'Stop Loss'. Don't – don't start Jack," Abbie said.

"Don't start what?" McCoy asked.

"Just –  _don't start_. I'm proud of my husband and I believe in what he's doing and I can't have an argument with you about it and stay friends." Abbie paused. "And – I really need a friend right now, Jack."

McCoy reached out and took her hand. "Okay, Abs. I promise. No arguments." He was surprised to see tears standing in her eyes. "Hey, hey. He'll be fine. He'll be  _fine_."

"Sure," Abbie said, nodding. "I know he will." She squeezed his hand and then pulled free, delicately wiping tears from the corners of her eyes, careful not to smudge her mascara. "What were you calling about?"

"To give you some news," McCoy said. "Not good. Edward Walters is out on bail. He might not have attacked Mary but from some of the things he said on the tapes of the wiretaps I'm worried we might have given him the idea. You should be a little bit careful."

Abbie nodded. "I will be. Are you putting a watch over Casey Novak and Regan Markham again?"

McCoy shook his head. "The department won't authorise the manpower just because a defendant tried to  _scare_  a prosecutor. Now we know he didn't attack Mary, One Police Plaza doesn't think it's a justifiable expense." He shrugged. "Some of the guys from the sixteen and the 2-7 are taking it in turns to get them to and from work, but that's the best that they can do."

"You think Walters is a genuine threat? To them? To me?" Abbie asked.

"Probably not," McCoy said. "He likes his victims  _shy_. He's a coward."

"Goes without saying, doesn't it?" Abbie said. "Nothing brave about beating a woman up and raping her."

"Well, SVU thinks attacking a prosecutor would be outside his  _comfort_  zone," McCoy said. "And as far as we know, Walters doesn't know you exist. The material from the wiretaps we turned over on discovery didn't name you. Just – be careful."

"Okay," Abbie said. "I mean, I'm  _always_  careful, with the kind of enemies the taskforce made me, but I'll take some extra precautions. Are you going to convict the son-of-a- bitch?"

"You can be sure of that," McCoy said.

He would have said more, but a knock of the door interrupted him. As Abbie turned in her chair McCoy saw Regan Markham was hovering in the doorway.

"Sorry," she said. " Ms Carmichael, Jack. The McKillop deposition – want me to take it?"

"I'd better," McCoy said. Regan nodded glumly, and McCoy realised she must think he didn't trust her with the task.

Although they'd both been buried in paperwork all day, their paths had crossed enough for McCoy to know Regan had been subdued all day. She'd been bitterly crestfallen after losing the bail hearing before Koehler, convinced it was her own fault.

_And Walters shook her_.

That had surprised McCoy.  _I wouldn't have thought she'd scare easily._ He had instinctively stepped forward when Walters had turned towards Regan and Casey, putting himself between them. When Walters, smirking, began to saunter off McCoy had turned to see Casey glaring after Walters, jaw set, and beside her –

_Whey-faced, Regan wavers on her feet. Sweat beads her forehead, although the courthouse furnace still struggles to dispel the overnight chill. McCoy calls her name, then again, three times before she seems to hear him. Then she blinks, and comes back from a long way away to ask Casey Novak if she's alright in a voice that sounds nothing like her own._

Prosecutors had to learn to face down intimidating or frightening defendants – defendants who often saw a young female ADA as an easy mark. Matt Bergstrom had tried it on Abbie Carmichael. Mark Bruner had succeeded with Serena Southerlyn.

_In an interview room at Rikers is no place to show fear._

Edward Walters was far from the worst or most dangerous criminal Regan Markham would have to face in a career with the District Attorney. Judging from her reaction that morning, she had a way to go to toughen up sufficiently for the job.

Regan was still looking at him expectantly and McCoy cast around for a task with enough responsibility to reassure her he didn't doubt her competence, despite the fiasco that morning. "Can you get the discovery started on People v Watts for me?"

Regan brightened. "Sure!" she said.

"All right," McCoy said. "Sorry, Abbie, but I've got to deal with this witness. Maybe next time you'll come earlier – we can get lunch?"

"I'd like that," Abbie said. She stood up and turned towards the door, then hesitated.

"Abs?" McCoy asked.

Abbie took one faltering step sideways, clutched at the bookshelf, and crashed to the floor.

" Jesus!" McCoy leapt to his feet. "Regan – get help, get an ambulance!" He flung himself around the desk, knocking over the chair in his haste, and dropped to his knees beside Abbie.

"On it," Regan said. She stretched over his desk to grab his phone and McCoy heard her dialling.

"Abbie?' he said, smoothing Abbie's hair back from her face. "Abs?" As he was pressing two fingers to the side of her neck to check her pulse she stirred.

"I need EMS to EADA McCoy's office  _right now_ ," Regan said into the phone. "Female mid thirties sudden onset syncope with LOC."

" Jack?" Abbie murmured dazedly.

"It's okay, you're okay," he told her. "Lie still. The ambulance will be here in a minute. Lie still."

"No, I'm okay," Abbie said, her voice stronger. She rolled over and tried to sit up. "I don't need an ambulance."

"I've heard you say that before," McCoy said. "Just lie still, Abbie. Please, just lie still."

"Jack …" Abbie said, and then looked past him. " Ms Markham, could you give us a minute, please?"

"Of course," Regan said. "I'll be outside, Jack." She closed the door behind her.

Abbie managed to sit up and leaned back against McCoy's couch. She pushed her hair back from her face and gave McCoy a weak smile. "I'm not sick, Jack. I'm pregnant."

"Preg – well, congratulations!" McCoy said. "It is congratulations, isn't it?"

Abbie's smile grew stronger. "Yeah. It's congratulations. We've been – well, anyway. Congratulations are definitely in order. But Tom being away … timing could be better."

McCoy took her hand. "He'll be back by – when are you due?"

"July. It's early days. That's why I'm not telling anyone. You're the first."

"I'm flattered," McCoy said. "Now, Abbie, if you need anything – "

"Light bulbs changed, spiders scooped out of the bath, any manly tasks like that?" Abbie teased, and then turned serious. "If Tom can't get back – if he's away for a full tour – I'll need a friend."

"Good thing you've got one," McCoy said. Abbie gave him a watery smile. "You're still going to the hospital, though."

"Jack – "

"Humour me," he said. "Get checked out. Just to be on the safe side. Okay?"

"Okay," Abbie said.

She refused to let the paramedics put her on a stretcher, though, and in the end they let her walk to the elevator. McCoy watched the doors close on her, thinking that he would have liked to have gone with her, but –

_Dammit. McKillop!_

Regan stood just near McCoy's office door, waiting. As McCoy hurried past her to grab his jacket and briefcase, Regan stopped him with a hand on his arm. "I had Colleen reschedule McKillop for 3.30," she said softly. "You were due to meet Casey about Watts but she can do dinner instead. I hope I didn't overstep – "

"No," McCoy said. "Not at all. Thank you." He took a more measured breath. "You better make a start on that discovery."

"Right away," Regan said, but she hesitated. "Ms Carmichael – is she okay?"

"I'm sure she'll be fine," McCoy said.

"Mmm," Regan said. "The first trimester's a bitch." She laughed at McCoy's expression. "When I left the room, you looked pretty frantic – but when EMS got here you looked more … concerned but kinda … proud as well." She shrugged. "Anytime you want to play poker, Jack, I'd be happy to take your money."

"It's not common knowledge," McCoy said. "Abbie – "

"Ms Carmichael's business is Ms Carmichael's business," Regan said firmly. "Don't worry, Jack. I can keep a secret."


	48. In The Court

_Office of EADA Jack_   _McCoy_

_One Hogan Place_

_11 am_   _Thursday 16 November 2006_

* * *

 

"Okay, well, look after yourself, and call – yeah,  _if you need anything_ ," McCoy said, deliberately giving Abbie an easy opening. He grinned at her pithy response and then as his office door slammed open to reveal Casey Novak with Qiao Chen and Regan Markham behind her, McCoy said a quick goodbye and hung up.

Casey was waving a blue-back at him as she stomped across the room and flung herself into his visitor's chair. "Have you seen this?"

"Fifteen minutes ago. I sent it down to you," McCoy said.

"A speedy trial motion?  _Already_?" Casey asked. "Is he kidding?" And then: "Are we ready?"

"No, Gorton isn't kidding," McCoy said. "And no, we aren't ready. Which is Gorton's motivation, of course." He held out his hand for Casey to pass back the blue-back but she handed it over her shoulder to Qiao Chen instead.

"Can we fight it?" Chen asked as he read the notice.

"We can always fight it, Mr Chen," McCoy said. "The question is, can we win?"

"And can we be ready to win by six tonight," Casey said. "Judge Morris Torledsky – what's he like?"

"Fair. Cynical," McCoy said.

"How's he going to look at this?" Chen asked.

"That's largely up to you – and Ms Markham," McCoy said, looking from Chen to where Regan stood silent near the door. "And how thorough your search of the relevant case law is. We'll meet back here at four – Ms Markham, be ready with the relevant precedents on speedy trial. Mr Chen, cover the exceptions – exigent circumstances for both defence and prosecution."

"You think Gorton's going to argue that Watts is at risk?" Casey asked, quickest of the three ADAs to follow McCoy's line of thought.

"He  _is_  at risk," McCoy said. "He wasn't put in witness protection for fun. No doubt Giacometti ordered a hit on Watts the day he found out Watts had ratted him out. There's a reason Gorton hasn't tried to get him bailed."

"I thought – " Regan said, and then coloured a little when they all looked at her. She ducked her head and continued, addressing the carpet: "I thought that was in case Walters tried something, having Watts under lock and key would throw more doubt on our case."

"How would Edward Walters committing another crime throw doubt on our case?" Chen scoffed.

Regan stole a glance at McCoy and he nodded encouragement. "They're going to use both cases to create reasonable doubt," she explained. " Gorton will suggest to the jury in Watts's trial that Walters committed all the crimes, and Heinlin will suggest to the jury in Walters's trial that it's all down to Watts. We can't try them as co-defendants, because they actually have nothing to do with each other."

"I'm sure that's part of it," McCoy said. "But solitary on Rikers is also probably where Watts is safest. The question for Torledsky will be, is the risk that Giacometti will manage to have Watts killed while he waits for trial a risk justified by the interests of justice. We need him to answer  _yes_. So get moving."

The two junior ADAs headed for their office almost fast enough to leave a cloud of dust in their wake. Casey didn't move.

"And you want me to get started preparing for trial," she said.

McCoy sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "We've got a defendant whose life is in danger – and he's innocent until proven guilty. The longer the delay, the greater the chance that Giacometti will make sure Watts gets the death penalty  _before_  conviction."

"My heart wouldn't bleed," Casey said.

"Mine neither," McCoy said, "but I'm giving you a preview of Gorton's argument, and Torledsky's likely decision. We need to be ready for trial."

"We need more time to make the case," Casey said. "The police haven't turned up anything new, but – "

"I know we need more time," McCoy said. "I just don't think we're going to get it."

Morris Torledsky's reaction to the arguments McCoy and Gorton presented in his chambers did nothing to assuage McCoy's misgivings.

"I'm not unsympathetic, Mr McCoy," the judge said. "But you see my dilemma."

"I see it, your honour, but I can't say I  _share_  it," McCoy said. "Our case is strong. Any risk to the defendant is outweighed by the interest of justice served by the due process prosecution of this crime. Beavers v. Haubert: 'The right of a speedy trial is necessarily relative. It is consistent with delays and depends upon circumstances. It secures rights to a defendant. It does not preclude the rights of public justice.' In this case, we are not even talking about a  _delay_ in normal court procedures. The People merely ask that you  _permit_  normal court procedures to take their course."

"This is not a normal case," Gorton countered. "The DA's Office is crazed with grief and desperate for vengeance for the attack on their colleague. Mr McCoy is blind to the weakness of his case and he is up to his old tricks." He spread his hands and shrugged theatrically. "Do I need to remind your honour of the tragic events of earlier this year, when Mr McCoy went so  _far_ beyond zealous prosecution as to be removed –"

"Don't  _you_  go over the bounds of zealous representation," Morris Torledsky said warningly.

"I apologise to you and to Mr McCoy," Gorton said urbanely. "And I draw your attention to Barker v. Wingo, which sets out the four factors the courts should assess in determining whether a defendant has been deprived of his right to a speedy trial, concluding with prejudice to the defendant. Being murdered by the mafia – I'd call that as prejudice against the defendant."

"Barker v Wingo is about  _delay_ ," McCoy said. "And again, your honour, there is no delay in this case."

"Delay is relative," Gorton said. "That's the one thing all the case law agrees on."

"New York State has set statutory definitions for speedy trial complaints precisely  _because_ the legislature has rejected Mr Gorton's argument," McCoy argued. "Delay is  _not_ relative. Delay is defined by statute."

" Mr McCoy has a weak case and he is hoping to run out the clock," Gorton said.

"My case is strong enough to send your client to jail for twenty five to life," McCoy snapped.

"If your case is that strong," Torledsky said, "you should be eager to present it at trial."

"As I'm sure your honour is aware, the DA's Office has more than one case before the courts at any given time," McCoy said.

"Less sarcasm, more substance," Torledsky warned him sharply.

McCoy bit back an equally sharp retort, and went on in the most moderate tone he could manage: "The substance, your honour, is that regardless of the strength of the People's case, our trial preparations proceed to a schedule, a schedule set by our expectations of court calendars and trial timetables. Witnesses need to be deposed. Our – "

" Jack, I think you can safely assume we're  _all_  familiar with trial preparation," Neil Gorton said. "And I feel for you, really. We all know how hard ADAs work, with so little staff, for such poor remuneration." He shot his expensive cuffs and the stones in his cufflinks caught the lamp light and glittered against the lush wool of his bespoke suit jacket. "But Manhattan's reluctance to fund the DA's Office adequately is not my client's fault, and he shouldn't be penalised for it. I refer you again to Barker v. Wingo, which specifically refers to the state of the court system as one of the reasons for delay that  _can_ be considered by the courts in making speedy trial determinations."

"Actually it specifically refers to crowded court dockets," McCoy said.

"Which, being likewise the result of decisions about proper funding of the court system, like resourcing the DA's Office, can properly be considered as part of the same head of argument," Gorton said.

"No, they can't," Torledsky said. "Although, can I say, nice try, counsellor."

"Thank you, your honour," Gorton said with a cocky grin. "About how far should I back it up?"

"A defence attorney who accepts he's over-reached? Wonders will never cease," Torledsky said. "All right, counsellors, time for me to divide the baby. Mr McCoy, I appreciate the People's arguments, but I am not willing to place a defendant's life in jeopardy to allow the People to work up a case."

"That's not – " McCoy started to say but Torledsky waved him silent.

"I know, Mr McCoy, I don't mean to imply I accept Mr Gorton's argument about the weakness of the people's case. I do, however, accept Mr Gorton's point about the ongoing danger to the life of Mr Watts." Gorton could not conceal his smirk as Torledsky went on: "This man is innocent until proven guilty of this crime. He agreed to put his life at risk to testify against Giacometti, an act of bravery that surely deserves some consideration from the representatives of the People – those same prosecutors who benefited from his testimony a few weeks ago. I cannot in all good conscience insist that Mr Watts be put at any greater or continual risk than that created by the very fact of the indictment and trial. As always, the court must weigh the interests of public justice and the potential harm to the rights of the individual. In this case, balancing those two factors requires that the trial against Mr Watts proceed with all due haste. How's your calendar for Monday, gentlemen?"

"Monday?" McCoy said. " _Monday_?"

"Defence will be ready, your honour," Gorton said.

"Your honour, Monday is impossible!" McCoy said. "That is an unreasonably early date for  _any_  trial, and I feel bound to warn your honour that I believe you are committing reversible error in – "

"I'll worry about my reputation and the appeals court, Mr McCoy," Torledsky said. "In the meantime, get ready for trial."

Back at One Hogan Place, Regan Markham echoed McCoy's disbelief. "Monday?" she said, stunned. "Is he  _insane_?"

"Oh, my god," Chen said. "What can we do? In that time?"

"We'll appeal," Casey said promptly.

"No, you won't," Arthur Branch said from the doorway.

" Arthur, this isn't just about Watts. The precedent this sets – " McCoy said.

"What about the precedent of a witness in a mob case being made a target by this office pursuing a vendetta against him?" Branch said.

"There's no vendetta!" McCoy almost shouted. "That's Neil Gorton's  _fiction_!"

"I know that, Jack!" Branch said. "But that's not how it's going to play if Phillip Watts gets shivved in Rikers waiting five months for trial."

McCoy paused. He looked up to see all three ADAs watching him, Regan and Chen mutely appealing to him to make Branch see sense, Casey with the expression of one who has just heard the other shoe drop. "Arthur," McCoy said, "Have you had a call from our Federal friends?" he asked.

"So what if I have?" Branch said, and Casey threw up her hands in exasperation. "There are larger considerations here than your trial date." Casey came half out of her chair, mouth open, but Branch drowned her out. "How many cases are going to go down the drain if witnesses start believing that witness protection isn't worth a damn?"

"Larger considerations?" McCoy asked, voice rising.

"Larger than Mary Firienze on life support?" Casey demanded.

"Yes, dammit, even if you don't want to admit it. It's my  _job_ to see the big picture," Branch said. "That's why I'm elected. It's  _your_ job to win cases. That's why I employ you. So go win this one, and quit whining."

"Are you ordering me not to appeal Torledsky's ruling?" McCoy asked incredulously, almost shouting.

"I'm telling you you're not going to," Branch said, voice rising to match McCoy's. "If you want to call that an order, that's up to you."

"I call it a bad decision motivated by politics, not by the interests of justice!" McCoy raged.

"I've had about enough of your holier than thou attitude, Jack," Branch said. "Some of us have to do more than moral posturing. I have to look ahead to the consequences of these impulsive gestures you're so fond of making. And until you decide to run against me and stoop to acknowledge the grubby political realities we mere mortals have to live with, I'll make the decisions in this office, and you'll have to live with  _that_."

"Or what, Arthur?" McCoy asked bitterly.

"Or find somewhere else to work!" Branch roared. In the shocked silence that followed, he stalked out. The three ADAs looked at McCoy. Too angry to speak, he swung around and stared out the window.

After a moment, Casey cleared her throat. "It's going to be hard work pulling this one out of the gutter in eighty hours, Jack."

"That's not our most pressing problem," McCoy said. He turned back to his desk. "Hand me those filing blanks, will you?"

"So you can write the words 'Appellate Term'?" Casey said. McCoy didn't answer, holding out his hand impatiently. Casey hesitated, and then ostentatiously folded her arms and leaned back in her chair, jaw jutting out pugnaciously.

"You don't have to be involved, Casey," McCoy said. "I'll make it clear to Arthur that this is my decision. Your career won't be damaged."

"Fuck my career," Casey said flatly. "And fuck yours, for that matter. Let's focus on what's important here."

"You think I should let Arthur Branch's political considerations determine the way I pursue justice for the People of Manhattan?" McCoy snapped.

"I think you should let the interests of justice determine your decisions, not your need to be right," Casey retorted. "What we need to do is win this case. How are we going to do that?"

"By getting a reasonable trial date, for a start!" McCoy flared. "For which I'll need the damn filing papers, Casey!"

Casey didn't move, uncowed by McCoy's angry glare, matching it with her own.

After a moment, Regan stepped forward and picked up the papers McCoy had asked for. She weighed the pad of blanks in her hand, and then reached across McCoy's desk to pick up the pen lying on his blotter. Resting the blanks on top of a stack of law reports on the edge of McCoy's desk, she wrote a couple of words on the top form, and then held the papers out to McCoy.

When he took them, he saw that in the space provided for second chair under 'counsel appearing', she had written ' Regan Markham'.

"Aren't  _you_  worried about keeping your job?" McCoy asked her.

Regan looked at him as if for that moment he was the only person in the room. "Yes," she said simply, and waited.

McCoy looked back at the papers in his hand, and then sighed and set them aside. "How close are we to trial?" he asked Casey.

"More than eighty hours," Casey said.

"We've got eighty hours until we  _open_ ," McCoy said. "We have  _eighty-one_  hours before we call the first witness. We have  _eighty-three_  hours before we call the second." Casey Novak was nodding agreement as he spoke. "If we're going to win this case we need to prioritise. Regan, Qiao, go down to Casey's office and bring the case files up here – to Conference Room four. Move your own papers on People v Watts in there as well. Then, Regan, tell Colleen we'll need two secretaries and three paralegals from tonight to the end of the trial - and tell her make sure they can do the hours, no parents."

"Okay," Regan said, and headed for the door.

"Qiao – the detectives from the 16th will be our first witnesses. Get them here – tonight – to start prep."

"On it," Chen said, and followed Regan.

As the door closed behind them McCoy ran his hand through his hair and dropped into his chair. " Jesus, Casey," he said.

"I don't think we can win this next week," Casey said.

"Well, fuck, Casey, you're the one who doesn't want me to file an appeal on Tordelsky's decision."

"You know that's a distraction," Casey said. "We can't win this by fighting and losing appeals. We have new ground rules and we have to live with them."

"Yeah," McCoy said. He put his elbows on his desk and rested his head on his hands. " Casey, I feel like my chickens are coming home to roost. Gorton is using every fast trick I ever pulled to support his argument that our prosecution is all about vengeance."

"A wise man once told me that there's only one thing to do when all the fast ones you've pulled come back to haunt you," Casey said.

McCoy rubbed his hands over his face. "And what's that?"

"Pull an even faster one," Casey said dryly.

McCoy looked at her and began to laugh. "That sounds like something I might have said."

"Come to think of it …" Casey said.

"Well, if you have any ideas," McCoy said, "don't be shy."

"Am I ever?" Casey said, and made McCoy laugh again. "If it's a Federal issue maybe Abbie Carmichael can help," Casey went on.

"I'll give her a call," McCoy said. "But if Arthur is getting calls I think it's gone far up the ladder from Abbie."

"Well, I'm going to get set up in the conference room for prepping the detectives. I should handle their testimony, Jack, they know me."

"No arguments," McCoy said. "I'll open, and handle the forensics, the pathology and the experts."

"I'll take the ID witness," Casey said. "You cross Gorton's experts and – if he testifies – Watts?"

"And you deal with the alibi witnesses, if Gorton puts them forward. I'll close."

"Done deal," Casey said, getting up.

As she left the office she nearly ran into Regan Markham at the door.

"We're set," Regan said to McCoy as Casey left. "Everyone's good to start."

"I'll be right there," McCoy said. Regan nodded and turned to leave. "Regan," McCoy said, and she turned back. "Are you ready for this?"

"Putting this son of a bitch in jail?" Regan said. She put her hand in her jacket pocket. "I've been ready since the phone rang on your desk that morning."

"You've been looking a little peaky. On Monday, with Walters, I thought you were going to lose your lunch."

"I don't like having guns pointed at me," Regan said tightly. "Even pretend ones."

"Fair enough," McCoy said. He picked up the filing blank she'd given him with her name filled in as his second chair. "This is an awfully big blank cheque you gave me."

"Yeah," Regan said. She shrugged.

"You're not worried I might fill it in for something you can't afford to pay?" McCoy asked, dropping the papers back on to his desk and standing up.

Regan looked at him as if she could not believe he had said something quite so stupid. " Jack," she said gently, "if you had to, I'd find a way to meet the cost." When he raised his eyebrows, Regan spread her hands and shrugged. "We all have to trust somebody, Jack."

"That doesn't sound very much like a lawyer talking," McCoy said with a grin. He gestured for her to precede him through the door.

Regan grinned back, letting him usher her towards the conference room where the others waited. "You can be devious and suspicious for both of us, then."

"Done deal," McCoy said promptly.

By eight pm on Sunday night, McCoy felt as if as well as devious and suspicious enough for two people, he was also tired and frustrated enough for five. He dropped his pen onto the conference table and looked around the room. None of the lawyers, paralegals or support staff there had had more than a few hours sleep at a time since Thursday. One of the secretaries had taken everybody's house keys and returned a few hours later with changes of clothes for each of them. The conference room looked as if a tidal wave of takeaway had washed over it and, retreating, had left scattered cardboard containers, plastic forks and a few stray noodles stuck to the table.

"That's it," McCoy said. "Wrap it up, Casey. If it isn't done now it won't be done at all."

Regan looked up bleary eyed from her review of their witness prep. "We've got hours left," she protested.

"You have hours left," McCoy corrected. " Casey and I have to be fresh for court tomorrow. Come on, Casey."

Casey closed her file. "See you here at six a.m. tomorrow," she told the others. "Ready for trial."

Chen gave a muffled groan of protest. Regan only closed her eyes briefly, and then bent over her papers again.

"Are we ready?" Casey asked McCoy as they rode down in the elevator.

"Not really," McCoy said. "We can hope that Gorton isn't all that ready either."

"He's got twenty times the staff at his disposal," Casey said. "Experts at his finger tips." She continued listing Gorton's advantages as they signed out and crossed the lobby, finishing with: "And I bet he gets a better class of take-out, too!"

McCoy laughed, holding the door for her. "You're forgetting I have a few advantages, too."

"Well, you're better looking," Casey said. "Although not better dressed."

McCoy looked up and down the street for a cab. "I have the truth on my side," he said. "Justice. That kind of thing."

"And you think that matters in the courtroom?" Casey asked. She spotted a cab and raised her hand for it.

"Maybe not," McCoy said as the cab pulled up. "You take this one." He opened the door for her. "You missed one thing I have on my side that Gorton doesn't."

About to step into the cab, Casey paused and turned to face him over the open cab door. "What's that?"

"I have you," McCoy said, giving her his best charming smile. "How can I lose?"

He had meant only to cheer her up and send her home in a better mood, but Casey coloured a little at his words. When she leaned a little towards him McCoy didn't move away.

Their lips met, tentatively at first, and then Casey put her hand on the back of his neck and pulled him closer, her mouth opening against his. The jolt of desire McCoy felt was enough to temporarily short-circuit his common sense and for long, reckless seconds he ignored the fact that they were standing out the front of One Hogan Place as he tasted Casey's mouth and explored the lips he usually saw set in determination, now soft and yielding against his.

When he pulled away Casey was breathing hard. Any smugness McCoy might have felt was undercut by the rapid pounding of his own heart.

"Wow," Casey said shakily. " Jack … we can't do that again. Not with the trial starting tomorrow."

"No," McCoy agreed reluctantly.

Casey nodded and got into the cab. McCoy closed the door on her, and then tapped on the window. Casey wound it down.

"Trials don't last forever," McCoy told her.

Casey grinned. "That's entirely true," she said, her voice floating back to him as the cab pulled away from the curb.

On Monday morning it began to look as if the trial wouldn't even last the week. Jury selection went remarkably quickly, and they were ready to open the trial after the lunch break.

Having a senior and experienced ADA like Casey Novak as a second chair was a luxury McCoy rarely had. Combined with Qiao Chen concentrating on taking notes and Regan Markham ready to duck in and out of the courtroom on whatever errands of preparation or research the trial needed, and McCoy felt as well staffed as any Wall Street corporate lawyer, even if the nine people from Neil Gorton's firm at the defence bar table still outnumbered the prosecution.

McCoy had worked and reworked his opening statement over the weekend. He was still not sure if he was taking the right approach, but he had finally decided that right or not, in  _this_  case there was only one way that  _he_ , Jack McCoy, could open.

He walked to the spot a few feet in front of the prosecution bar table where he always began a case. Hands by his side, he looked from one juror to another, concentrating on what he had to ask them, here today, on the single plea that might let the People win this case.  _Give Mary Firienze justice_ , he asked them silently.

Then McCoy took one more step forward and spoke.

" Mary Firienze is a young and dedicated prosecutor from the Manhattan District Attorney's Office," he told the jurors, quietly. "She has been in this very courtroom, time after time, standing where I am standing right now, facing jurors like yourself. Seeking justice for the victims of horrible crimes. But today, she is lying in the high dependency care unit of Mercy General Hospital." McCoy gave a helpless shrug, a man baffled by the cruelty of life. "On October 25th this year, Phillip Watts, the defendant, saw Mary Firienze in the corridors of this very courthouse. He recognised her. He  _recognised_  her because in 1997 he was engaged to marry her sister Carla, and engagement which ended when Mr Watts brutally beat Carla Firienze to death." McCoy turned a little towards the defence bar table, indicating Watts without looking at him, as if he could not quite bear to. It was hardly an act, as McCoy summoned up the events of October 25th to make the jury understand them. " Mr Watts realised on October 25th that Mary Firienze was in a position to discover that he was guilty of the murder of her sister, a discovery which would end his cosy witness protection arrangement and see him tried for murder in Florida. But Mary Firienze had not made that discovery yet, and when Phillip Watts approached her, she had no reason to suspect his motives. He slipped away from the agents protecting him and arranged to meet the woman he had decided he had to kill when she finished her working day. He accompanied her to her home. And there, he attacked her."

McCoy paused, shaking his head, as if reluctant to go on. The cold subterranean garbage room was for a moment more real to him than the courtroom where he stood. "In an effort to avoid discovery, he used the crimes committed by a vicious serial rapist as a template for his monstrous attack. Phillip Watts dragged Mary Firienze downstairs to the basement of her apartment building. In the room where the super kept the garbage bins, among the household trash, Phillip Watts gagged and bound Mary Firienze with electrician's tape. He raped and sodomised her. He cut her with a knife. And then he beat her head against the concrete floor over and over again before he left her for dead." McCoy's voice cracked on the last word and he saw one of the female jurors wince a little. He bowed his head for a moment, giving the jury a brief reprieve. Later in the trial he would drive them mercilessly through the most brutal evidence, deliberately overwhelming them with the horror and the grief of what had been done to Mary Firienze, but at this moment he deliberately showed compassionate respect for their sensibilities.

"Over the course of this trial," McCoy went on, "You will hear from the police who investigated this crime. You will see the forensic evidence that proves Phillip Watts read through the case file of the crime used as a template for the attack on Mary Firienze. You will hear from the eyewitness who saw Phillip Watts with Mary Firienze moments before she was attacked." He paced slowly before the jury box. "The People know this will be a difficult trial for you. The crime is horrific. Some of the evidence will be graphic. We know that it will be difficult for you to examine it, but we ask, all the same, that you do. And then we ask you to give Mary Firienze what she sought for so many others, what she fought for so hard." McCoy rested his hand on the rail of the jury box and leaned forward a little, letting his voice drop to just above a whisper. "Give her justice."

He held their gazes a moment longer and then turned back to the bar table, letting his shoulders slump a little and his head hang.

As he rounded the corner of the bar table Neil Gorton leaned forward. "Jury nullification, Jack? That all you got?"

McCoy ignored him, but he knew Gorton had identified the weakness in the prosecution case.  _We can appeal to emotion – but so can he._

And Gorton did. He didn't try to charm the jurors – he wouldn't have had much success at it. He was too slick for Manhattan jurors to find appealing, but not too slick to be convincing. His bearing, his voice, his words – all gave the jury the same message.  _Feel free to dislike me_ , the message was,  _but you can't ignore the truths I'm telling you._

By the time they had finished with the police witnesses and adjourned for the day McCoy could sense that Gorton was having an impact on the jury. His constant implication that his client was the victim, not the villain, that Mary had been obsessed and vengeful, not seeking justice, wore away at the People's case like drips of water on a boulder.

"What are we going to do?" Casey asked as the four lawyers split Chinese in the conference room back at One Hogan Place. "How can we rebut him? Who can testify as to Mary's state of mind?"

"Just Mary," Regan said.

McCoy ran his hand through his hair, reminded. "Have you any news from the hospital?" he asked Regan.

"No change," Regan said. She hesitated, then added: "Mr and Mrs Firienze are considering ending supportive care."

"Ending supportive care, what does that mean?" Chen asked.

"Turning off the ventilator," McCoy said. Casey closed her eyes. "Sometimes patients  _do_  breathe on their own afterwards, Casey. There's always a chance."

"Always a chance," Casey said, trying to smile. Her lips trembled and she turned quickly away. "Tomorrow's you on forensics, Jack, let's go over the scene-of-crime report, okay?"

The next day in court went a little better for the prosecution, although Gorton's co-counsel did their best to shred the People's forensic experts on cross. McCoy was almost sure he'd been able to restore their credibility in the eyes of the jury on redirect, but as they adjourned for the day he knew Gorton's real damage to their case had not been contained in any disparagement of the lab work done at One Police Plaza.

_The forensic evidence convinces **us** , _McCoy thought as he crossed the street back to One Hogan Place, Qiao Chen ahead of him in the early winter dark.  _And I could use it to convince the jury – but not with Gorton pointing out the gaps. A fingerprint – but no DNA. An eyewitness – but not to the attack._

_He can make it add up to reasonable doubt_.

_And he will._

As Regan unpacked the night's takeaway dinner in the conference room McCoy turned the problem over in his mind.

" Jack!" Casey said sharply, and he realised she had been speaking for a few minutes without him hearing her. "Are you with us?"

McCoy focused on her. "Thinking about the trial," he said. "I don't think we're going to make it over the line with the case we have, Casey, and that's the truth. We need another witness. And the only other witness is Mary. She can't testify now, and tomorrow they'll turn off the machines and then Neil Gorton will know she'll never testify against Watts."

Casey pushed her paper plate away. "Should we stall?"

"Stall? For what?" Chen asked.

"To amend the charges?" Regan said around a mouthful of pizza. She swallowed and continued: "Add murder?"

"You know our chances of a conviction would be increased," Casey said. "Just on the sympathy factor."

McCoy frowned, considering it. " Maybe, Casey. Maybe."

_Pull a fast one. That's the only way to win this case. Will stalling be fast enough?_

He stood up. "My other cases don't wait for Torledsky's timetable. I've got blue-backs on my desk on People v McMillan. Regan, can you give me a hand?"

"Sure." She stuffed the last of her pizza in her mouth and followed him out of the conference room.

"Close the door and take a seat," McCoy said when they reached his office. Looking a little puzzled, Regan did so. "Regan, I need you to answer a couple of questions for me, honestly."

"About McMillan?" Regan asked, frowning.

"Forget McMillan," McCoy said impatiently. "This is not about McMillan. I need to ask you some questions, and I need you to tell me the truth. Will you?"

"Okay, Jack." Regan folded her arms and waited.

"That day on the basketball court, did you foul Chen on purpose?" McCoy asked her.

She hesitated. "Yes."

"To get him back for closing you out of the game?"

"Because we couldn't win if he kept closing me out of the game," Regan corrected.

"Would you do the same thing again?" McCoy asked.

"No," Regan said.

"Why not?"

"Because a couple of days later he got me back by not passing on a phone message from you," Regan said.

"And I ripped you a new one," McCoy said, remembering, now able to put the incident in full context. "So you wouldn't have fouled him if you'd known it would come back on you?"

"It came back on the office," Regan said. "Winning a basketball game isn't worth maybe losing a case because a deposition or a case conference is missed."

McCoy looked at her for a moment, and then nodded. "All right," he said, holding her gaze. "I'm going to ask you to do something. It's not illegal, but it might challenge your sense of ethics. And it won't be easy. But it's our only chance to get this bastard. Are you willing?"

Regan nodded. "Sure, Jack," she said. "What is it?"

He told her what he planned. Before he'd finished Regan was shaking her head. She got up and walked away from him across the office, arms folded, shoulders hunched.

"No," she said. "No, I don't think I can."

"Regan, look at me," McCoy said. She turned slowly. "I can't convict this guy. Not on the case we have. Not against Gorton. I can't do it. We've got one shot to make him pay and I can't make it work without you."

She shook her head silently.

"I thought you'd find a way to meet any cheque I wrote?" McCoy said, and Regan looked sharply at him, tears standing in her eyes. He softened his voice. "Regan. Do it for Mary."

"Oh, that's low, Jack!" she burst out, voice breaking.

"I play to win, Regan," McCoy said. "Always. How about you?"

Regan stared at the floor. She put her hand in her jacket pocket and pulled out something McCoy couldn't see, looking down at it for a moment, and then turned back to McCoy, wiping tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. "Alright," she said, meeting his gaze. She raised her chin a little and squared her shoulders. "I'll do my best."

"I know you will," McCoy said, and Regan ducked her head shyly. McCoy reached down to his bottom drawer for the bottle of scotch and two glasses. He poured them both a generous measure.

"Let's go over this," he said. "Step by step."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In New York, statute defines the right to a speedy trial as requiring the prosecution to be ready for trial within six months on all felonies except murder. It is inconceivable that any judge would make a decision like the one I have made Torledsky make. In real life, Jack McCoy and his colleague would have plenty of time to work on the People's case. However, as with Mary Firienze's coma and the medical implications thereof, I have compressed time in order to remain true to the personal development of the characters, if not to medical and legal realities.


	49. Dirty Work

_I look for ghosts; but none will force_

_Their way to me._

_WILLIAM_   _WORDSWORTH, Affliction of Margaret_

* * *

 

_Mickey's Diner_

_102 Centre St_

_11.15 Wednesday 22 November 2006_

* * *

 

"Just the coffee, thanks," Olivia Benson said, pushing the coins across the counter. She took the Styrofoam cup and turned for the door. If her watch was right, she had just about enough time to drop in on the Watts trial and see how things were going before she was due back at the precinct.

Her phone rang as she stepped out the door and Olivia took a few steps down the street as she answered it, hunching her shoulders against the wind and sheltering under the window awning. Melinda Warner had a DNA match for her on an open case and Olivia asked her to fax the results to the SVU Bureau at One Hogan Place so the ADA catching the case could get an address warrant for the detectives.

As she dropped her phone back into her pocket, Olivia saw a familiar face through the window into the diner. She leaned closer to the window to get a better look.

Regan Markham was sitting by herself at a table near the back of Mickey's. She had a cup of coffee in front of her, but she didn't seem to be drinking it. She stared at the tabletop, tracing the edge of her saucer with one finger. On the verge of going back inside to speak to her, Olivia stopped. There was something so utterly dispirited in the way Regan sat, such an empty expression on her face, that Olivia was reluctant to intrude.

As she hesitated, Regan stirred and checked her watch. She got up, tossed some bills on her table, and strode towards the door.

Olivia followed her at a little distance as Regan headed across the street to the courthouse. The prosecutor climbed the steps slowly and wearily, and outside the door to Trial Part 47 she stopped for a moment. She stood leaning against the wall, and as Olivia came closer she could see Regan was biting her lip, seeming on the verge of tears. She fished something out of her pocket and Olivia saw the glint of light on metal as Regan bent her head and studied whatever it was that she held.

Just when Olivia was about to go over to her and ask her if she was alright, Regan lifted her head and Olivia was surprised to see her distress had been replaced by a joyous smile. Beaming, Regan pushed through the doors into the courtroom.

Olivia followed her through the doors and down to the front row of the gallery seats behind the prosecutors' bar table.

The witness from Mary's building who had seen Watts and Mary arrive was on the stand. Gorton was cross-examining her, but Olivia could tell Casey had prepared her witness well. The young mother was polite but firm, and Gorton was having no luck shaking her from her insistence that she had seen Phillip Watts and Mary Firienze together that night.

Regan leaned over the railing and put her hand on McCoy's arm, speaking softly to him. As Olivia slipped onto the bench beside her, she heard McCoy say: "When?"

"About an hour ago," Regan said.

Casey was smiling with tears running down her cheeks. "Oh, thank god," she said fervently. "Thank god, thank god."

"And she can identify him?" McCoy asked Regan.

His voice was loud enough to carry, and Neil Gorton glanced away from the witness. "And are you sure – " he said, hesitated and started again. "I mean – "

"She named him right before I left," Regan said, distracting Gorton again.

"Your honour, if I might have a moment," Gorton said uneasily.

As the judge granted Gorton five minutes and the defence lawyer hurried back to his team, Olivia felt the first tingle of wrongness. Regan had been across the road in the diner for long enough to have an empty cup on the table in front of her. She had not come straight from the hospital.

"But –" Olivia started to say, feeling the tug of dread like a fishhook in her gut.

McCoy turned to her sharply. "Hold on, Detective," he said. Then to Casey: "Look over my shoulder. Is Gorton looking over here?"

"Yes," Casey said.

"How does he look?" McCoy asked.

"Worried," Casey said.

"Good." McCoy rose to his feet. "Your honour, the People ask leave to call another witness."

"Your honour!" Gorton cried, shooting to his feet. "Defence has had no notice – "

"The witness has only just become available," McCoy said.

"Enough," Torledsky said. "I'll hear argument on this after lunch."

"Will he let her in?" Regan asked McCoy as he sat down. "It's late."

"There's no judge in the county that would exclude the victim's testimony because she didn't come out of her coma until the end of the trial," McCoy said.

"I've got to get down to the hospital," Casey said. "I've got to see Mary. Jack, do you need me?"

"I'll be fine," McCoy said. "Regan can sit at the table until you get back. Detective, why don't you go with Casey?"

Olivia's suspicions crystallised. "Yeah," she said. " Casey, I'll catch you up." When Casey was out of earshot, Olivia turned to Regan. " Mary didn't wake up, did she?" she asked softly.

"No," Regan said equally softly. "It's not even that good, Detective. When they turned off the ventilator, she didn't even try to take a breath."

"How long ago?" Olivia asked, seeing the scene in her mind, Mary's family, Mary with her poor bruised face, the monitors beeping and then going silent.

"Two hours," Regan said. "Detective Benson – don't let Casey go down there blind."

"No," Olivia said. "Don't worry, counsellor. I'll do your dirty work"

She caught up with Casey in the corridor and walked with her to the elevator. As they got out on the ground floor Olivia took Casey's elbow.

"I need to talk to you," she said.

"We'll get a cab," Casey said. "Tell me in the cab, come on."

"No, now, Casey, I  _really_ need to talk to you." Olivia looked around. "Let's go in here."

She led the way into an unoccupied conference room and shut the door behind them. Casey folded her arms impatiently. Olivia bit her lip.

" Casey," she said. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, but Mary didn't wake up."

"No, but, Regan said –" Casey said. Olivia saw her understand it. "No. No." Casey shook her head and began to back away. "No, she said _–_ she _said –_ " She pointed to the door, to the absent Regan Markham. "No, Liv, no, she said, she said, she – "

" Casey, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Olivia said, closing the distance between them. She took Casey's hand in hers but Casey pulled free. She stared at Olivia for another second, another two, refusing to believe her, and then she closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around her stomach and turned away. A noise came out of her, a low groan, and she pressed her hand over her mouth as if to stuff the sound back behind her teeth, put her other hand over her eyes. As Casey's knees buckled Olivia caught her. Casey fought sobs with both hands clamped over her mouth. Olivia held her up, held her with all her strength.

Ten seconds, no longer, and Casey had strangled her grief and forced it down inside herself and lifted a face coolly professional except for the tearstains.

" Jack needed me to sell it to Gorton," Casey said. Her face was composed, but her voice was thick and gluey with tears. "He turned so they could see my face, not his. He used me to sell it."

"He's a son-of-a-bitch and he shouldn't have done it." Olivia said.

"No," Casey said. "If he can get Watts to plead, it's worth it. We're never going to get a conviction, Liv. We just don't have the case. If Watts pleads, we get something. And it's worth it." She reached for her purse and pulled out a makeup compact. "It's not like Mary would be alive if he hadn't done it. It's not like in the end it makes any difference."

"He led you to think –" Olivia said. " Casey, that's just cruel."

"That's winning," Casey said. "That's what Jack McCoy does. Everything legally permissible." She patted powder on her cheeks. " Olivia, he'd cut out his own heart on the bar table if that's what it took to get a conviction. How can I grudge him mine?"

"A decent man could never do that to you," Olivia said.

"He doesn't care, Liv," Casey said, carefully wiping away traces of mascara. "He doesn't care if you think he's despicable. If I do. He cares about winning." She snapped her compact closed. "And if it was you in that hospital bed, I'd want Jack McCoy prosecuting the case."

"I don't understand you lawyers," Olivia said. "You – Markham – Jack McCoy … don't you have a line?"

"A line?" Casey asked.

"A line you won't cross," Olivia explained.

"I used to think there was," Casey said. "Once upon a time." She shrugged. "Then I came to Special Victims. Now I know there's nothing I won't do to put these bastards away." She picked up her briefcase. "Come on, Liv. We have to go out and get in a cab like we're going to Mercy. McCoy's making one last big play. Let's not fuck it up for him."


	50. Making Them Pay

_Meeting Room_

_Supreme Court_   _Criminal Term NY_

_111 Centre St_

_12.15 Wednesday 22 November 2006_

* * *

 

"Let's make this quick," McCoy said. "I have a witness to prepare and I'd like to grab a sandwich as well."

_Ticking clock_ , Regan thought. It was all she could do to keep her face blank and her composure intact. Her gut was churning with grief and shame, Olivia Benson's words ringing in her ears.  _Dirty work … I'll do your dirty work._ She slipped her hand into her jacket pocket and fingered the cufflink she carried, the cufflink McCoy had dropped at the instant this case had started, the tiny piece of metal that had become a talisman for Regan in the weeks since.

_Dirty work. Dirty work Jack asked me to do. He asked me, and I did it. He asked me because it's the way to win. And I did it because it's the way to win. And we're not done yet. We're not home yet. He still needs me to have his back._

_So get your goddamn_   _head in the goddamn game, girl._

Regan locked Olivia's bitter words and Mary Firienze's dead face away in the same box she'd closed tight before drawing her gun and going to a door with Marco. That box had held fights with Robbie, hospital visits, going bail for one or another of what Gran-Da had called 'the no-good Seattle Markhams'. It was strong enough for the sob that had torn out of Mary's father at the monotone bleep of the monitor, for the single sigh as Mary's lungs gave up the last of the air forced into her lungs by the machines.

Regan closed it all away hard, the way she'd been taught to do when she had a partner going through a door. She focused on McCoy beside her, all irascible impatience, busy-attorney-who-doesn't-need-to-be-here. Reaching for the files in front of her, Regan flipped the first one open as if she had far more important things to think about that what Neil Gorton might be going to say.

"Is your witness Mary Firienze?" Gorton asked.

"If you'd let me file my notice before asking for this meeting you could read her name on the court papers," McCoy said tartly. Regan snorted as if amused by his answer, not looking up from her file.

"What does she remember?" Gorton asked.

"Since you insist your client is innocent, I'm not sure why you care," McCoy said.

"Drop the act, Jack," Gorton said. "Is there a deal to be made here?"

"You know that with an ID from the victim, I have a guaranteed conviction," McCoy said. "And I'll ask for the maximum. Twenty five to life."

"You won't get it. You'll be lucky to get ten." Gorton said.

"Felony attempted," Regan said without looking up. "On a pretty young woman, Mr Watts. Your lawyer is underestimating the effect that can have at trial."

" Neil," Watts said urgently.

"Don't listen to them, Phillip," Gorton said. " Jack, you said something earlier about assault?"

"Aggravated sexual assault," McCoy said. "And assault."

"We'll plead to sexual assault and assault. Sentences concurrent."

"Consecutive," McCoy said instantly. "And he does the maximum on both."

"Maximum on the sex assault, recommendation on the assault."

McCoy hesitated, and both Gorton and Watts leaned forward a little. "Done," McCoy said, and Watts sighed with relief. "Let's see the judge."

"I thought you wanted to get a sandwich," Gorton said.

"We get this plea before the judge, I can go out for a three course meal," McCoy said smugly. Regan gave him a glance, pulled a little face calculated to fall between amusement and exasperation. Everything else stayed behind that tightly sealed door.

Fifteen minutes later they were in front of Torledsky. Fifteen minutes after that, Torledsky had gavelled the plea bargain into legal reality.

The rap of the hammer falling was both the symbolic and the legal end to the case. Regan felt it reverberate through her and her stomach turned.  _Mary. We got him._

_Did we get him enough?_

Her heart began to race. Regan couldn't tell whether she felt anger or grief or some other combination of emotions. She took a slow, careful breath, tasting acid. _Head in the game_.

But the game was over.

_Hold it together, all the same,_ Regan told herself, wondering if she could.

As the court officers led Watts away for transfer to Sing-Sing, McCoy turned in his chair to watch. Regan felt as if she ought to do the same, but she couldn't drag her gaze away from her hands folded on the bar table, adrenaline gone stale making her shiver, the lack of sleep over the past few days eating away at her emotional resources.

The door closed behind Watts and McCoy turned back. "We got him," he said, and Regan couldn't tell whether the tightness in his voice was triumph or anger. "I told Mary's parents we'd make him pay. And the sonofabitch will."

"Three and a third," Regan said. She could see McCoy in her peripheral vision but all she could look at was her hands, with their blunt cut nails and stains from leaky ballpoints. "He pled to three and a third for murdering Mary to keep anyone from finding out he murdered her sister."

"You have to look at the big picture," McCoy said.

Regan managed to look at him, although he was swimming out of focus with the unshed tears in her eyes. She wanted to scream at him, she wanted to burst out sobbing, she wanted not to make a fool of herself here in the courtroom and she had no idea which would win out. "The big picture like we couldn't make the case without tricking him into a plea?"

"That's one big picture," McCoy admitted. He put his hand over Regan's on the bar table. "There's another. There's a contract out on Phillip Watts and he's going into general population in Sing Sing. You know, the State of New York won't let us strap Watts to a gurney anymore, even for a double homicide."

"But this is just as good?" Regan asked.

"He'll never hurt another woman, Regan. He'll never leave prison. Mary's family will know her killer has got what he deserves."

"I don't know what's worse," Regan said. "Your faith in the efficiency of the criminal underclass or your lack of faith in the prison administration." She slid her hands from under his and started pushing her papers into her briefcase.

"Learn to take what you can get," McCoy advised her.

Regan stood and looked down at him. " Watts took that plea because we tricked him into thinking we had a witness – we pled him to assault when he should be going down for murder – on a case we couldn't make against him – how is that a  _result_?"

McCoy stood up as well, so close to Regan that she had to tilt her head back a little to meet his gaze. "We let him think Mary would ID him, is that your problem?"

"One of them," Regan said.

"If an ADA told you there was a complaining witness against  _you_  for assaulting Abbie Carmichael, would you take a plea?" McCoy asked.

"What? I've never – Abbie?" Regan said, confused. "What's Abbie got to do with it?"

"Innocent people don't take pleas because they think there's a witness to a crime. Innocent people know eyewitnesses will clear them," McCoy said, leaning even closer to Regan. Trapped against the bar table she couldn't back away and his intensity was intimidating.  _I've got to get out of here_ , Regan thought dizzily.  _I'm going to start crying. I'm going to panic. I'm going to throw up on Jack_   _McCoy_ She couldn't get past McCoy to the aisle and he kept pressing his advantage. "If Watts really was as innocent as Neil Gorton claimed, he'd be delighted Mary could ID her attacker." He emphasised his points with a finger stabbing her shoulder. "Only a guilty man would have taken that plea, Regan. All we did was create the conditions for his own guilty conscience to trap him."

"Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?" Regan asked, against the instinct to agree with him, to tell him whatever he wanted to hear if it would get him to let her go.

"I know exactly what we did," McCoy said angrily. "I've got  _no_  problems with it."

Regan couldn't fight down her panic for another moment. She put her hand flat on his chest and pushed him away from her, pushed him hard. McCoy rocked back in his heels and Regan turned her shoulder to him and shoved past him into the aisle. McCoy looked at her with astonishment as she backed away from him.

"I'll see you at the office," Regan blurted.

"Regan – " McCoy said, taking a step towards her. She thought his tone might be conciliatory but she couldn't stop, couldn't speak, couldn't look at him.

"I  _have to go_ , Jack," she begged, and McCoy stopped and let his hand fall to his side. Clutching her briefcase, Regan turned and almost ran from the courtroom.

She pushed her way through the corridors to the nearest washroom and locked herself in a cubicle. Alone, she could fight down the panic. Deep breaths settled her stomach and let her brace herself against the threat of sobs.

A day like this back in Seattle and Regan could have put her head on Marco's shoulder and wept out her frustration and confusion.

_But the days when I could lean on anyone's shoulder are long gone._

She kept telling herself that Jack McCoy was the closest thing she had to a partner these days, and that might even be true.  _But not close enough._

She went to the basin and splashed water over her face and then went back out into the corridor.

To her surprise, McCoy was waiting for her. He didn't say anything, just fell into step beside her as she turned towards the exit. When Regan glanced at him he was looking straight ahead. She wondered if she ought to apologise – she wondered if she could get the words out without breaking down – but McCoy's companionable silence didn't seem to require anything from her.

They walked side by side back to One Hogan Place. McCoy spoke at last as the elevator let them out on the tenth floor. "There'll be drinks tonight at the Lord Roberts – to celebrate getting Watts. You should come along."

"I'm not really up for it," Regan said. "Thanks, though."

"It's not about you," McCoy said a little sharply and Regan turned to look at him. "There will be a lot of cops and prosecutors there, people who knew Mary, who worked with her. They want to say thank you to us, and goodbye to her. You need to come."

Regan looked down at her feet for a second, and then nodded. "Okay," she said.

"And then take a couple of days off," McCoy said. "You've more than earned it."

"I'm – " Regan said.

"You're  _exhausted_ ," McCoy said sharply. He looked as if he might be going to say something more, but Colleen Petraky interrupted him.

" Mr McCoy!" she called. She was standing with a couple of paralegals each holding stacks of file boxes. "What do you want done with these?"

"What are they?" McCoy asked.

"They're from Mary Firienze's office," Colleen said.  _Oh god,_  Regan thought, and heard McCoy draw a sharper breath. "They didn't want to pack up her office while she was – well, but now – so they've got her files and her personals and –"

Regan looked at McCoy and saw him staring at the boxes with a stricken expression. She swallowed hard. "Put them in my office, Colleen," she said. "I'll separate the office files from the things we need to send to Mr and Mrs Firienze."

McCoy put his hand on Regan's shoulder for a second. "Thanks," he said.

"Doing my job," Regan said, and then tried to smile at him to soften how sharply the words had come out.

"And Mr McCoy," Colleen said, " Ms Novak is waiting in your office."

Regan watched him go down the hall as the paralegals carried their boxes into the office she shared with Chen.

" Casey," McCoy said, and Regan saw him reach out with one hand as he closed the door behind him with the other.

Regan put her briefcase on her desk and shucked her coat, facing the boxes with trepidation.

The first few were easy – piles of case files, easy to stack to one side to be sent back down to Special Victims. The third was more of a mix, and Regan realised it must be the contents of Mary's desk drawers. Pens and pencils, a bottle of Advil, a lipstick and a dictionary … Regan reached into the box and pulled out a cassette player. She put the headphones over her ears and pressed play, expecting a deposition recording or something similar.

It was a music tape. A woman's voice poured into Regan's ears, singing about a couple of young girls in a car driving –

_Into the arms of Florida_.

Regan closed her eyes.  _She must have listened to this and thought of Carla. Two sisters. In a car, on a road trip. Driving down to Florida_

_She listened to it after Carla died._

_Now I listen to it after Mary's died._

_Two sisters, both dead._

_Two sisters, beaten to death by the same man._

_And the best we could do was three years and the hope some skell in Sing-Sing will stab him in the shower._

Regan sank into her chair and rested her head on her hand.  _"Isn't it hard sometimes_ ," the woman on the tape sang sadly, and Regan found herself nodding.  _"Isn't it lonely_. _"_

Regan turned in her chair and looked out her office door to the closed door of Jack McCoy's office.  _Close to a partner._

_Not nearly close enough._

_Isn't it hard sometimes? Isn't it lonely?_

The tears came then, and this time Regan couldn't stop them. All she could do was turn away from the door and put her hand to her face and pretend she was studying the papers in front of her. She didn't know whether she was crying for Mary, for Mary's family, for herself.

She put her hand in her pocket and touched Jack McCoy's lost cufflink, waiting for her talisman to fill her with determination and resolve.

It was just a piece of metal.

Mary was dead.

And whatever Regan told herself, she had no partner, not anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Regan hears is " Florida" by Patty Griffin.


	51. New Friends

_10th Floor_

_District Attorney's Office_

_One Hogan Place_

_6 pm_   _Wednesday 22 November 2006_

* * *

 

McCoy put the last file in the box and picked up the lid, then hesitated.  _People v Watts_ was scrawled across the front of the file in Casey Novak's handwriting, but it would always be, for everyone in the DAs Office, the Firienze case.

_Three and a third …_

He put the lid on the box, and picked up a pen.  _People v Watts_ , he wrote in the blank space provided, and under it  _Murder of Mary Firienze._

_Three and a third …_

For the first time he felt it as a reality.  _Mary is dead._ In the courtroom, in the conference with Gorton and Watts, the play he was making, the bluff he had to pull off, had fully absorbed him. The fact that Mary's parents had turned off her life-support and she had …

… _had **died**_  …

… that had been just one of the balls he had to keep in the air. Regan Markham dropping the rights words at the right volume, check, Casey Novak convinced and beaming with joy, check, Mary Firienze on her way to the morgue, check …

 _People might say that I take some cases too personally,_  McCoy thought,  _but no-one has ever dared say it distracts me in the courthouse._

 _Nailed that sonofabitch to the wall_ ,  _three and a third be damned. If he lives to do one of those years I'll eat Adam's old hat._

And then Casey, wanting to tell him she understood why he'd done what he'd done, to make sure McCoy didn't feel guilty for using her, or worry she'd bear a grudge –  _neither of which occurred to me until she said them_  – Casey, with her words coming in broken phrases interrupted by her fight against tears, tears she refused to shed in front of him.  _Taking it on the chin, like always,_  McCoy thought.  _Only way she knows how._

He sighed, looking down at the box.  _People v Watts_.  _Over_.

_Mary Firienze. Over._

_Blonde bob swinging as she runs across the foyer, arms full of files. "Hold the lift!" And the sideways, heart-stopping smile she gives as he does and she ducks in between the doors before they can close._

_Over._

McCoy put the box on the file table for collection and headed for the elevators, coat slung over his shoulder. There was a light still on in the office Regan Markham and Qiao Chen shared. He stopped at the door and saw Regan at her desk, head bent over her papers.

"Regan," he said, and she jumped a little.

"Hang on," she said thickly. When she turned McCoy could see she had been crying. "What do you need, Jack?"

"That's an alarmingly open ended question," he joked. Regan's eyes filled with tears and she turned away from him again. "Regan," McCoy said, a little dismayed.

"I'm  _fine_ , Jack, I'm just over-tired," Regan said shakily. She blew her nose. "It must be past my bedtime."

"Are you coming to the Lord Roberts?" McCoy asked.

"Oh, right. The drinks. Yeah." Regan grabbed her coat and handbag and stood up. "Lead on." Tears trickled down her cheeks and she wiped them briskly away with her fingers. "Don't worry, I'll pull myself together by the time we get there." McCoy squeezed her shoulder as she passed him, and Regan gave him a tremulous smile.

She was silent in the elevator, and McCoy wondered if she was still troubled over the plea agreement with Watts and the fast one McCoy had pulled to get Watts to take it.  _Give her time_ , McCoy thought.  _A few more years and she'll be making the same high and wide calls._

 _Or she won't be working here any more_. That had happened. Jamie Ross and Sally Bell were two young lawyers who had been unable to reconcile the demands of the District Attorney's Office with the dictates of their consciences.

McCoy hadn't thought Regan Markham would have that problem. Her attitude to defendants was relentless, untroubled by shades of grey or by the anxiety over the spirit rather than the letter of the law.  _And **that**  might turn out to be her problem._

_Three and a third for two murders – a hard pill for anyone to swallow. Me included._

He'd heard an accusation in her words to him in the courtroom after Watts was led away.  _As if I need anyone to point out that it's no sweeping victory._ He'd already been defensive.  _And attack is the best form of defence._

_And a compulsive need to win an argument is an advantage, professionally, for a lawyer, but …_

McCoy had not realised how much Regan had been seeking reassurance, or how ferociously he was pressing his point, until she had pushed him away, her strong hand flat on his chest and he had seen something akin to panic in her eyes as she fled from him down the aisle. He had won the argument, and only then realised it was a hollow victory.

And now Regan was standing silent beside him, scrubbing occasionally at the tears trickling down her cheeks. She caught him looking at her and turned away.

"Don't look at me, Jack. It's only really crying if someone sees you. Like ice-cream."

McCoy looked straight ahead again, and sought for something to say.

"Did you get Mary's papers sorted?" he asked her as the elevator opened its doors at the lobby.

"Yes," Regan said. "I gave Colleen all Mary's personal things, I packed them up. I thought you or Mr Branch – maybe a note, for her parents, before we send it back."

"Yes," McCoy said. "That's a good idea. Are you – was it – upsetting?" He hadn't thought until later that Regan had been there at the hospital, that she had seen the ventilator stop and the monitors go silent. Still charged with the adrenaline of outwitting Gorton, McCoy had not absorbed the reality of Mary's death.  _And so I never considered the fact that Regan had no such buffer._

Regan looked up at him as they went through the doors, and managed a smile – small, but genuine. "It's all upsetting, isn't it?"

"Some of our cases aren't simple," McCoy said. "This is one of them."

"And how am I supposed to feel about it?" Regan asked.

"It's a win," McCoy said, and shrugged. "Even if it doesn't feel like one."

"So what do you do?"

"Have a drink, and move on," McCoy said, equal parts honesty and flippancy. He flagged down a cab, and opened the door for Regan to get in.

When they reached the Lord Roberts Regan seemed eager to take McCoy's advice, heading straight for the bar. The crowd was thick, just about everyone who'd worked with Mary there, and with a few minutes McCoy and Regan were separated. He glimpsed her talking to an ADA from Special Victims, knocking back a drink and signalling for another, and then a hand tapped him on the shoulder. McCoy turned to see Abbie Carmichael smiling at him.

"Congratulations," she said. "Was the case really that weak?"

"We were getting our asses handed to us," McCoy admitted, putting his arm around her shoulders to shelter her a little from the crush and steering her to a table. "And how are you?"

"The same as I was when you called me this morning," Abbie said. "And yesterday. And – "

"Okay," McCoy said. "You can't blame me. You're in that place on your own, and –"

"Counsellors," Lennie Briscoe said, interrupting him. "Here you go, Abbie." He put a glass of clear liquid with a slice of lime in front of her and sat down beside her. "You and me are the only sober ones here tonight."

"I have a big case in the morning," Abbie said. "I'll toast Mary another time."

"I hear you bluffed Neil Gorton into a plea," Briscoe said to McCoy.

"There's a rumour going around to that effect," McCoy said.

"Damn, that's cold," Ed Green said, sitting down at the table. "And you knew Mary Firienze was dead?"

" Ed," Briscoe said warningly. McCoy took a breath, blew it out, and grinned at Green.

"How could I have implied to the court I was putting her on the witness list if I knew she was dead?" he asked.

"You've done it before," Briscoe pointed out.

"I've never put anyone dead on a witness list," McCoy said quickly.

"And let me guess, you were very careful not to let anyone tell you Mary had passed away?" Briscoe said.

" Mr McCoy walks close to the line," Liz Donnelly said, and McCoy turned to see her looking down at him with a tight little smile. "Sometimes over it. Although this time I doubt he'll end up before the disciplinary committee. Well done, Jack."

"I promised you," McCoy said to her.

Liz patted his shoulder. "You would have nailed that son-of-a-bitch whatever you said to me. Did you hear – funeral's Friday."

"We'll be there," McCoy said.

Liz nodded, and turned to go, then turned back. " Jack – that trick you pulled? Mary would have loved it. She was your kind of lawyer."

"I know," McCoy said. He looked down at his drink for a moment, and Abbie reached across the table and rested her hand over his.

"Anyone seen Casey Novak?" Liz asked.

"Yeah, I think she's over – " Abbie said, turning. "There. Over there."

"Oh my god," Green said, following her gaze. "White woman dancing. Somebody get Ms Novak off the dance floor before she hurts herself."

"She's having a good time," McCoy said. "Leave her be." He looked around. "I should be talking to people. Did anyone see what happened to Regan?"

"On the dance floor," Briscoe said. McCoy craned his neck and saw Regan in the arms of a tall man who looked vaguely familiar.

"Who's that guy she's dancing with?" he asked.

"Uh, that's Strickland. Narcotics. Why?" Green asked.

"What's he like?" McCoy asked.

"He's a good guy. What – you want for me to go break it up?"

"No," McCoy said. "Just – would you let your sister dance with him like that?"

"First of all, last time I had any say in who my sister danced with she was in pigtails. Second, she ain't your sister," Green said.

McCoy grinned. "Both excellent points."

"So. You want me to break it up?" Green asked.

"No," McCoy said. "None of my business. So long as he's a good guy." He shrugged. "She had a rough day."

Anita Van Buren came in with her husband and raised her hand in greeting. McCoy stood up and gestured her to his chair. "Good to see you, Anita. Donald, how are you?"

"I'm good, Jack. Anita's been telling me you pulled some fancy legal footwork today?"

"Less legal footwork, more low down skulduggery," McCoy said. "But it's the result that counts."

"And now," Anita Van Buren said, "since I rarely get the chance to dance with my husband, and he is the only man I'm legally licensed to dance with, I'll ask you gentlemen to excuse me." She took Donald's hand and led him away.

The music was something modern with a pounding beat and repetitive lyrics. It was obviously more to Regan Markham's taste than to McCoy's, he thought, watching her dancing very close to Strickland.

"You gonna do any dancing yourself, or are you just going to watch all night?"

McCoy turned to see Casey Novak looking at him with her head cocked. "Not my taste in music," he said. "Can I buy you a drink instead?"

"You certainly can," Casey said.

As the bartender poured their drinks McCoy turned again to look around the room. He'd said to Regan that the prosecution team needed to be there for Mary's friends and colleagues to see them, and it was true, but now he was calculating how much longer he needed to stay.

"Hey, Regan seems to have made a new friend," Casey said.

"No-one likes to go home alone after a win," McCoy said, shrugging.

Casey took a long pull of her drink, put it down on the bar, and turned to look him dead in the eye. "So who are you going home with, Jack?"

McCoy raised his eyebrows. "Do you have any suggestions?"

She smiled slowly, and picked up her coat and bag. "I'm going outside," she said. "I'll wait at the diner on the corner for five minutes. Maybe I'll see you there."

Casey brushed against him as she went past him to the door, trailing her fingers along his arm as she did. McCoy felt a little jolt at the touch, like a static charge jumping between them. Deliberately, he didn't turn to watch her go. His reputation could hardly get any worse but he was sure Casey didn't need the gossip.

The smart thing to do was to sit where he was until a safe amount of time had passed and then go home alone. Casey might be embarrassed but she would get over it. The smart thing was not to succumb to the temptation.

Exactly three minutes after Casey Novak had left the bar, McCoy dropped a couple of bills on the bar, picked up his coat and briefcase, and followed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The case Briscoe refers to is "Monster", in which (if my memory is correct) McCoy tells a doctor to give a false report that a child victim has recovered consciousness and then puts her name on the People's witness list, prompting the man who attacked her to accept an offered plea.


	52. Going Home Alone

Across the length of the bar, Regan saw McCoy pick up his coat and briefcase and head for the door.  _Darn_. She'd hoped to have the chance to talk to him tonight about the case, about Mary, about the trial – at some point after a couple of tequila shooters had blurred the edges enough for her to open her mouth without sobbing.

She wasn't sure what she wanted to say to him about it, what she wanted him to say to her, just that it still churned in her stomach and she didn't have any received wisdom on how to deal with it.  _What would Gran-Da say about it_? He'd be okay with Watts getting murdered in prison.  _He'd probably arrange for his cell-mate to get the knife._  But what about the shell-game she and McCoy had run on Watts and Gorton? She didn't know. She couldn't ask.

She'd wanted to ask McCoy, but there was no way she could reach him through the crowd before he left the bar.

"Hey," Strickland said, and Regan turned back to him.

"Sorry," she said.

Strickland put his hands on her waist and drew her closer. "Is that your boss? Jack McCoy?"

"Yeah. Do you know him?"

"Played basketball a couple of times. He's like you. Hates to lose."

"Nobody likes losing," Regan said a little defensively.

"Yeees," Strickland admitted. "But your boss – he  _really_  hates to lose. Like you. Hey, don't be offended. I like chicks with a fighting spirit."

Regan laughed and punched his arm, not as hard as she could have but hard enough to hurt. " _So_  glad I meet with your approval."

"Everything about you meets with my approval, counsellor," Strickland said. He leaned closer and Regan hesitated. Strickland stopped. "You want to sit down for a while? Maybe have another drink?"

"Yes," Regan said. He was good looking, he was tall, and she found his attention flattering, but it had been a long time since she'd picked up a man in a bar.

_Actually, it's been **never**  since I picked up a man in a bar. Two high school boyfriends, then Robbie, and I was a married woman before I knew what hit me._

_And then … well, then I didn't even want to be up-close-and-personal with my **doctors** Let alone strangers._

She let Strickland lead her from the dance floor. As she took a seat she could hear Anita Van Buren behind her talking to her husband. He was going home to check on their sons. She was going to stay a little longer. Regan took the drink that Strickland gave her and wondered how Van Buren and her husband worked it out, the whole cop-non-cop marriage.  _He doesn't seem to mind that she's hanging around with her work buddies for a while longer._ Mr Van Buren kissed his wife like they were still in love and winked at her as he told her not to be out too late.

Regan got a lump in her throat, thinking about all the people who weren't ever going to get to look at their spouse of twenty years like that, Mary Firienze included. She washed the lump away with a gulp of tequila as Strickland sat down next to her and put his arm around her shoulders. This time when he pulled her closer, Regan let him. The tequila was smoothing everything out. When Strickland nuzzled her hair, his fingers stroking her shoulder, Regan turned a little towards him and offered him her lips.

The kiss was a little clumsy, but Regan thought that Strickland showed definite potential for improvement, and the feel of his fingers tracing the edge of her collar was very nice indeed. She leaned closer to him and Strickland dropped his hand to her leg. That was also, Regan decided, very nice.

"We could get out of here," Strickland suggested a little hoarsely.

Regan thought about it as he kissed her again. She'd liked the look of him even before she'd had enough tequila to lose track of exactly how much tequila she'd had. He seemed to have a pretty good idea of how to get a girl nicely hot and bothered and she was more than a little bit drunk. All those things made her think that going home with him was a pretty good idea. It had been a long, long time since a man had touched her the way Strickland was touching her now, had started that slow burn in her belly.

Bu if she went home with him, she was pretty sure there was going to be nudity. And Regan knew that she might be drunk, but she was not nearly drunk enough to take her clothes off in front of another human being.

Regan pulled away. "I think – I think maybe not," she said apologetically. "I'm sorry."

"Okay," Strickland said, letting her go. "Would you mind if I called you sometime?"

Regan felt herself blush, and smiled shyly. "No. I'd like it. I'm at the DA's Office."

"I know," Strickland said. He pulled her to him again and kissed her deeply, leaving her flustered and breathless. "See you around."

Regan pulled on her coat as she headed for the door. She realised she was grinning a little bit idiotically, a grin that was one part tequila and one part hot-basketball-playing-cop maybe going to call her up.

As the cold air hit her she stumbled a little, and caught herself on the wall, giggling.  _I'm pretty well toasted_ , she thought, looking around for a cab.  _Well, I deserve to be. I earned it._

She walked a little bit further down the street, wondering if she'd have better luck getting a taxi on the corner.

The first blow took her completely by surprise.


	53. Plea Bargaining

_Mulberry St_

_Manhattan_

_8.50 pm Wednesday 22 November 2006_

* * *

 

"I thought you might not come," Casey said, breath steaming in the cold as she and McCoy walked side-by-side. "I thought I'd made a complete fool of myself."

"What would you have done?" McCoy asked. "If I hadn't come?"

Casey shrugged. "Had a cup of coffee and gone home," she said pragmatically. "Are you sure we shouldn't get a cab?"

"We're here," McCoy said, taking her elbow to steer her up the steps of his building.

They stood self-consciously apart from each other in the elevator, although they were the only passengers. Casey let him lead the way down the hall. He unlocked the door and let her into a hallway with a study visible on one side and a kitchen on the other.

"Take your coat?" McCoy said.

Casey shut the door behind her. "Nice place," she said. She dropped her bag near the coat rack and took off her coat. McCoy took it from her hand, his fingers lingering over hers. He hung it up next to his own.

"Do you want a drink?" he asked.

"No," Casey said, and without further ado, grabbed his shirt and shoved him up against the wall. She kissed him hard, teeth catching his lower lip, pushing herself against him. McCoy responded in kind, crushing her to him, plundering her mouth with his tongue. Casey moaned as McCoy slipped a knee between hers and pressed against her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him to her, hips rocking involuntarily as the heat inside her spiralled upwards. McCoy kissed her neck, her collarbone, ran his hand up her waist to cup her breast.

Casey pulled away from him enough to get her hands in between them and fumble with his belt.

"Wait," McCoy panted.

"Can't," Casey said.

"Bed," McCoy said, and pulled her down the hallway.

"Sissy," Casey said breathlessly, letting him tow her. When they reached the bedroom she spun him around and pushed him back onto the bed, climbing on top of him. McCoy groaned and arched his back as Casey straddled him. She started to undo his shirt, then gave up and ripped it open, leaning forward to trail kisses downwards.

Then she stopped. "Jack," she said, "there's something I need to know."

"Top drawer," McCoy said hoarsely.

" _No_ , I mean, a real question." She shifted her weight a little and McCoy's hips jerked.

"You choose  _now_  to get inquisitive?" he asked incredulously.

"I want an honest answer." She traced a pattern on his chest with one fingernail. "And I presume I have your full attention?"

"Not in the way of answering questions, no," McCoy said. He ran his hands over her thighs and then began to slide her skirt higher. "I'll tell you whatever you want to hear – I mean,  _know_. Later." He reached her for but she captured his hands with her own, lacing her fingers through his.

"Now, Jack," Casey said, "While you're still highly motivated." She moved a little, to reinforce the point, and McCoy's grip tightened in hers.

" _This_  is why you're here?" McCoy asked, a little hoarsely.

"Have you heard the saying, men lie before sex, and they lie after sex?" Casey said. "That means they only tell the truth  _during_. And I want you to tell me the truth."

"Can I take the fifth?" McCoy asked, and then gasped and closed his eyes as Casey shifted her weight again. "God, Casey – you're merciless."

"Pay attention, Jack," Casey ordered. "Why did you pick Regan Markham to run your scam on Neil Gorton? And not me?"

"That's what you want to know?" McCoy asked disbelievingly.

"Is it because she's a better lawyer?" Casey persisted.

"She isn't half the lawyer you are, Casey," McCoy said.

"Then why?"

McCoy managed to free one hand and evade her efforts to recapture it, sliding his hand under her blouse where it had pulled free from her skirt. "Do you really want to talk about this now?" he asked with a suggestive leer.

"Come on, Jack!" Casey said, trying to ignore his fingers working their way up her waist.

"I'm  _trying_ ," McCoy said. "Are you going to co-operate?"

"I could be  _very_  co-operative, counsellor," Casey said, "If you answer my question. You made a big play. You shut me out. Why?"

"No-one ever wonders what you think, Casey," McCoy said. "For example …" His hand crept higher and Casey let out an involuntary moan, leaning into his touch. McCoy chuckled. "I needed Regan to tell the lie. I needed you to  _sell_  it." He ran his thumb over her hardening nipple, scattering her thoughts. Casey tried to concentrate, difficult as it was with McCoy's fingers raising trails of fire under her skin that ran straight down to her belly.

"So she's – a better – Oh, god, Jack – a better liar, that's why?" she gasped.

Casey was taken by surprise when McCoy flipped them over, ending up with Casey the one pinned down. "She keeps more secrets," he said, looking down at her with a smug smile. "And now, counsellor, I think  _you're_  the one at a disadvantage."

"Really?" Casey said, rubbing one foot up the back of his leg and arching her back to press against him. "It looks to me more like a win-win situation."

McCoy pressed his lips to her neck, then to her collarbone. "Does that mean you are amenable to a plea bargain, counsellor?" He began to unbutton her blouse.

"Is that a – a bargain where I say – say please a lot?" Casey asked, arching her back at his touch.

"I'm sure we can include that among the terms," McCoy murmured. Casey laughed, and then as McCoy began to work his way down from her collarbone her breath caught and she heard herself make quite a different noise.


	54. Beaten Down

_Mercer St_

_Manhattan_

_9:15 pm_   _Wednesday 22 November 2006_

* * *

 

Regan saw the sunburst of light behind her eyes before she felt the blow. Stunned, she staggered forward on rubbery legs. The next blow was glancing but hard enough to knock her off balance and she sprawled to the sidewalk.

Her body seemed a very long way away through the fog that was descending over her consciousness but Regan made it move, arms and legs scrabbling against the gritty cement as she lurched to her feet.  _Give up and you're gone_ , an old man's voice told her. For a moment Regan couldn't tell if she was in a cold New York night or behind the well-house at Gran-Da's place.  _Stay up. Keep moving. Nobody gonna give you quarter 'cause you quit, girl._

She got herself up and turned around in time to see another fist coming at her and she jerked her head sideways and heard the blow crunch into the wall and a man swear.

Then her mind cleared enough to register the face she was looking at and it was Edward Walters and Regan opened her mouth to scream and he grabbed her by the throat. He was on her and pushing her against the wall and his hand cut off her air. Blood hummed in her ears. Regan clawed at his eyes and his grip loosened. She pulled free and staggered away, the street rocking beneath her feet – half from the blow, half from the five tequilas she'd tossed back in the bar.

She managed to get out a brief yelp before Walters grabbed her again, fist tangled in her hair. He swung her around and slammed her face first into the wall. Regan kicked backwards and felt her heel make contact, but not hard enough to make Walters let her go. He cursed her, leaned his weight against her head, grinding her face into the bricks. Regan felt skin tear. Pain bloomed across her cheek and mouth.

Walters spun her around and swung at her. Regan blocked the first blow, the second, but she was slow, slower than she would have been sober, and the third got past her. Her nose exploded with pain. She saw stars.

After the fourth punch she saw only darkness.

* * *

 

"So then Mary said, let me get this right, she said – " Abbie Carmichael told Olivia. "'Well, your honour, if the defence gives me a banana, I have no choice but to make daiquiris'."

Olivia snorted. "She did  _not_."

"I was there," Don Cragen said. "She said it. I nearly swallowed my  _tongue_."

"And then what happened?"

"She won the case," Abbie said. "And afterwards, she and I drank banana daiquiris at that little place three blocks from the courthouse, the one with the fake palm trees? I have  _never_ been so sick." She looked at her watch. "It's gone nine – I'm about to turn into a pumpkin. Hey, has anyone seen Jack? I should say goodbye."

"I think he left," Olivia said. She looked around. "Yeah, I think he's gone."

Abbie raised her eyebrows. "Already? That's not like the Jack McCoy I know. He can usually drink the bar dry after he wins a case."

"It wasn't exactly a win, though, was it," Olivia said.

Abbie looked at her hard. "They don't all end up the way you'd like them to," she said. "Doesn't mean Jack and Casey didn't do their best."

Olivia gave a bitter little laugh. " Mr McCoy did his  _worst_." she said. "I don't know – I said to Casey, I don't know how you lawyers do it. I've never seen anything so cold-blooded."

Abbie frowned. "Have you ever discharged your weapon in the line, Olivia?" When the detective nodded, Abbie shrugged. "I don't know how  _you_  do it. I mean, capital cases, sure, I have no problem asking for the death penalty. And I have a gun at home. But use it? I've been thinking a lot about that lately. Stand in front of another human being and take their life – end it?" She shook her head. "I don't know if I could."

"I didn't  _enjoy_  it," Olivia protested. "I had no other options, no choice about it!"

"I know," Abbie said. "But Olivia, next time you're wondering how an ADA makes a decision you don't agree with, does something you don't like – try to remember that it's not just with a gun in your hand that you can find yourself without any options." She shrugged and reached for her coat. "We all do what the job demands. We all do what we have to."

* * *

 

_Darkness._

Regan couldn't breathe in the dark. It was the familiar dream, the light gone, her chest burning, such a crushing weight.  _Air. I need air. There's no air._

It was the familiar dream, but with a sudden lurch of horror Regan realised she wasn't dreaming. She was awake.

And she couldn't breathe.

Her mouth was sealed, a painful band across her mouth and around her head.  _Nose. Breathe through your nose_. She tried to, but her nose was mostly full of blood and snot and only a trickle of air at a time made it to her straining lungs.

For a few seconds that panic completely filled her and obliterated everything else, but then Regan tried to move her hands to get whatever it was off her mouth and she couldn't, tried to move her feet and the effort suddenly constricted her throat. She panicked again, froze, body screaming for oxygen and mind just screaming in blind terror.  _Dying_ , her body said.  _Dying. You're dying._

Her mind agreed.

"Don't try moving," Walters told her. "You'll pull the noose tighter."

The images of Mary Firienze bound and gagged on the floor of the garbage room flashed through Regan's mind, followed by the case file on Annie Levy.  _Oh god oh god oh god_. She was bound and gagged and hogtied with a rope around her neck tied to her ankles and if she struggled she'd strangle herself.  _Oh god oh god oh god oh god._

_Gran-Da, what do I do, what do I do, what do I do, oh god, help me, help me, what do I do?_

Tears ran down her face and stung the abraded skin on her cheeks.  _Oh god, don't cry don't cry_. If she started crying in earnest her nose would block up completely and that would be the end of her.

_It's going to be the end of me anyway._

_No, no, don't die, don't die, fight, find a way to fight._ She tried to see around her. There was next to no light but she could see trash cans and a wall.  _Alley_. She was in an alley. And what could she do with that?

_Nothing. Oh god oh god oh god._

* * *

 

"I better make a move," Van Buren said. She reached for her bag. "It's half past nine, and I got my husband waiting for me at home."

"See you tomorrow, Lieu," Briscoe said.

Van Buren leaned past a couple of SVU cops to put her hand on Abbie Carmichael's shoulder. "Do you need a lift, Abbie?" she asked. "I'm parked a block away."

"No, I'm fine," Abbie said. "I'm around the corner."

"All right," Van Buren said. She pulled on her coat and turned to the door, threading her way through the familiar faces still dancing and drinking. A scrap of conversation came to her, something about Mary Firienze and a case she'd been trying … It would be a while before the police and prosecutors really recovered from the loss of one of their own, but tonight was a start. Tonight was where they came together and started remaking their professional world without Mary in it.

Van Buren sighed as she pushed the door open. It wasn't the first time she'd seen it; it wouldn't be the last. Usually it was cops who died in the line. This year, twice, it had been prosecutors.  _Nobody saw it coming the first time, forget about the second_.

_You lose too many too fast and you get all bent out of shape._  Briscoe had had a partner like that, Mike Logan, over in major crimes now.  _Good cop,_  Van Buren thought,  _hot-head but a good cop_. Two partners shot – it had nearly been the end of him.

_At least Jack seems to be coming out of it_ , Van Buren thought, starting down the street to her car, hurrying against the cold.  _He had me worried for a while. Smart man like that, still too stupid to know when he needs a friend, or maybe just too proud to admit it._

_But he'll be okay. The worst has gotta be over. He made it through the case. He'll mend._

_Thank god my husband is in hardware,_  she thought as she started down the street to her car.

* * *

 

Walters knelt beside Regan. "You know," he said, "this is even more fun with you knowing what I'm going to do to you. And you do know, don't you? I saw you in court. I've got my knife here,  _Ms_  Markham, you fucking bitch. And I'm going to cut you with it. That's for starters."

There was no room in Regan for anything but panic. There was not enough air. Her chest was filling up with blood and she was so cold and there was not enough air – no.  _That's not now._   _Now_ was a cord around the neck tied to her ankles, her legs bent up behind her, tape over her mouth,  _now_  was face down in an alley in New York with maybe an hour left to live.

_I'm going to die, I'm going to die I'm dying I'm dying …_

_What do I do Gran-Da, what do I do?_

She could hear Walters panting, could hear clothing rustling. He was getting himself excited while he told her what he was going to do to her, how he was going to cut her, and then how many times he was going to rape her…

With a sudden bound of hope Regan realised Walters would have to untie her feet in order to rape her. Just as quickly as it came, the hope was crushed with the realisation that he didn't need her to be conscious or even alive at that point.

The thought almost loosed her last tenuous grip on her self-control.

_Two in the belly and one in the head, knocks a man down and kills him stone dead … but she's not shot in the head, is she, she's taken three in the belly and one in the chest and she's still upright. What do I do, Gran-Da?_

She couldn't breathe. She couldn't breathe because  _there was a bullet in her lung_   _and her chest is full of blood_.

No. She couldn't breathe because of the tape over her mouth and the cord around her neck.

She couldn't breathe and nobody is coming to help her, nobody is coming  _because they're all dead_ ,  _she can see their bodies through the fog descending over her sight,_ and nobody will come, nobody will ever come –

And maybe this is how it goes. Maybe this is how it ends for her, how it should have ended already, maybe cheating death last time  _hearing the whistle and bubble as she fights to breathe and fights to breathe and fights again to breathe_ was only a delay. Maybe this is how she goes, suffocating, slowly, like Mary, with no-one coming, trying to breathe, and trying again to breathe, like Mary, like Alex –

As Regan squirmed, trying to find a little play in the ropes that bound her, something in her jacket pocket dug into her side. Sharp metal edges bit through fabric. The tiny prick of pain focused her mind. She remembered –

_Remembered McCoy's face as the cuff link slipped from his grasp._

_Remembered his face, pale and etched with grief, as he raged "Don't try to tell me **you know what it's like**  to know a young woman who looks to  **you**  is missing somewhere being beaten and  **dying**  and  **waiting**  for you to find her while she chokes in her own blood and vomit .."_

_They'll find me tomorrow. Like they **found** Alex. Like they  **found** Mary_

_Because that's who gets found. The ones who are lost. And I'm going to be lost._

_And then Jack will be._

_And no-one's going to find Jack. He's gonna be back in the woods in the dark and there'll be no partner coming to get him._

Regan didn't fool herself that she was as important to Jack McCoy as Mary Firienze or Alex Borgia. But still, the knowledge that she was going to die in this alley was nowhere near as horrifying to her as the thought of Jack McCoy's face as he stood over her body.

McCoy might only be  _close_ to a partner, but as Regan listened to Walters panting as he listed every place on her body he was going to violate, as she struggled to breathe, she realised that McCoy was close enough.

_This might be what's supposed to happen to me. I'm damned if I'll let it be what happens to him_

Out in the street she could hear steps coming closer, a woman's heels tapping on the sidewalk. Regan would have preferred a man's footsteps, some big guy who could scare Walters off, but  _beggars can't be choosers, can they_.

Regan began to suck air like a swimmer preparing to go underwater, hyperventilating as much as she could. Walters laughed at her, no doubt thinking she was panicking. The sound of her sobbing breath snuffling through her blocked nose hid the approaching footsteps, from Regan and from Walters as well. Then she saw a shadow across the alley entrance.

_Now or fucking never._

Regan kicked out hard.

The noose tightened around her neck as her legs straightened but she managed to thrash out enough to kick the trashcans. One fell against another with a clatter.

"Stupid  _bitch_ ," Walters said. "You want to fucking kill yourself, save me the effort?" Regan could barely hear him over the humming blood in her ears. She bent her knees again to relieve the pressure on her neck but the noose didn't loosen much.

_Can't – breathe – can't – breathe …_

Dimly, she heard the sweetest words in the world.

"Police! Hands where I can see them!"

It was Anita Van Buren's voice.

* * *

 

Ed Green was offering to take Ana Cordova down to Atlantic City – it wasn't  _that_ late, he was telling her, not quite even quarter to ten – when his pager started humming. He pulled it out of his pocket, realising as he did that all around him hands were digging in handbags, reaching into jacket pockets.

The bar was full of cops. And every cop was getting beeped.

Green read the code.  _Officer needs assistance._ Then he read the address.

" Jesus H," Captain Cragen said next to him, also looking at his pager. "That's  _down the street_."

Green was already drawing his gun.

The bar emptied fast, cops spilling out into the street. Green crossed the road, Detective Stabler from the 16th right behind him, both with guns out and held low. Benson and Tutuola were on the other side of the street, crouched behind the parked cars, all of them running fast and quiet. Other officers strung out behind them. Green glanced over his shoulder and thought that he'd never seen so many officers responding to one call.

_Officer needs assistance_.

And only then did Green put it together.  _The LT left a couple of minutes ago._

_Officer needs assistance._

She could take care of herself, Green knew. She was one tough cop.

_And if she's – hurt – or **worse**  –_

_I will kill the sonofabitch, and I won't need a gun to do it._

There was an alleyway up ahead – Green checked the sign and it was the same as the name he'd read off the pager. He signalled to Stabler and then ducked quickly across the alley entrance. Benson and Tutuola were across the street, covering them.

Green exchanged a glance with Stabler and the SVU detective nodded.  _One, two, three –_

They both turned at the same instant, following their guns into the alley.

"Police! Show me your hands!"

* * *

 

Regan heard Walters stand up.  _Lock him down, Lieutenant. Lock him down._

_I got no air left. I got no time._

The world was a pinprick now and Regan had only the dimmest awareness of what was happening. She could hear Van Buren calling for backup, but her voice was almost drowned out by every cell in Regan's body screaming for oxygen. She struggled against the rope, vaguely aware that she was making things worse but no longer able to make rational choices. She was a trapped animal, trapped and dying, stripped down to desperation and terror.

"Regan!" Anita Van Buren's voice penetrated the haze. "Regan, listen to me! You hear? Hold still! Bend your knees and hold still!"

It was an order, issued in the irresistible voice of command, and Regan obeyed it. She had been drilled and drilled to obedience, and there was enough of her rational mind left to respond to the authority in Van Buren's voice. She bent her knees. She held still.

"You hold still, Regan, I'm coming. You, on the wall. On the wall!"

Walters didn't move.

"On the wall!" Van Buren said again.

Regan fought to hold still against every instinct screaming at her to fight. She heard Van Buren, heard Walters say something, saw him move, saw his hand move to his waist and –

_A man draws down on you_  –

A single gunshot roared through the alley. Regan saw the muzzle flash blaze through the darkness clouding her eyes.

_Put him in the ground._

_Then or later._

Then firm hands were on her, fingers pulling at the rope around her neck. Someone was speaking to her.

Someone was alive. Someone was dead. Regan wasn't sure which of the two was true about her. The rope got tighter.  _He's going to kill me. I'm dying. I'm dead._

The rope loosened. Regan got a tiny gasp of air.  _Not enough._ But enough to let her hear the voice talking to her. "Hang on, Regan, hang on, I gotcha, I gotcha." _Walters would never say that. Walters would not sound so warm and reassuring._

It was Anita Van Buren's voice, Anita Van Buren's fingers pulling at the tape around her face. Then she stopped.

"Regan, I can't pull this off, you're bleeding. I'm going to cut it. Hold still. Hold real still."

Van Buren braced Regan's head against her knee. Regan felt Van Buren's fingers on the tape over her mouth and then she felt cold metal. The tape between her lips parted.

And then, at last, there was enough air. Regan gasped and coughed and spat bile. She heard Van Buren talking into her radio.

"Officer involved shooting, be advised, plain clothes officer on the scene. I need a rush bus."

"Police! Show me your hands!" a voice barked from the mouth of the alley.

"I'm a police officer," Van Buren called calmly, but Regan could feel the tension in her. This was always a point when things could go badly wrong, too many guns, too many cops keyed too tightly – a moment of panic, of indecision.

"LT?" the voice called. _Not this time._

"That's right, Ed," Van Buren said. "The perp is down – over there. Check him."

Regan rested against Van Buren's leg and concentrated on breathing. A sudden wave of nausea swept over her and for a moment she panicked, trying to spit past the tape and breathe and convinced she was going to suffocate  _now_ ,  _now for Chrissakes, after all that -_

"I gotcha, I gotcha," Van Buren soothed, clearing Regan's mouth with her fingers. "I gotcha. You're okay. It's okay now, you're okay. Someone get these ropes off her, will you?"

"Oh my god," Olivia Benson said from a little distance away. "This is Edward Walters."

"Is he dead?" Van Buren asked.

"Oh yeah," Stabler said. "You shoot him?"

"I had to," Van Buren said.

"One shot stop," Stabler said. "You must put in quite a lot of range time, ma'am."

Regan felt tugging on the ropes that bound her and then they suddenly loosened. Gentle hands straightened her legs and eased her arms from behind her back. Returning blood brought stringing pain and she couldn't hold back a whimper.

"It's okay, it's okay," Olivia Benson said softly.

Somewhere past Olivia, Captain Cragen was talking. Van Buren eased Regan into Olivia's supporting arms and stood up. Cragen was saying something about needing someone's gun, about setting up a perimeter. Regan tried to follow it but her head was spinning. Olivia cradled her. "You're going to be okay, Regan, the ambulance will be here soon."

Regan blinked hard and saw Anita Van Buren talking to Cragen, cops all around them, cops, everywhere.  _Safety_.

"I'm okay," she said, or tried to with the shredded tape still stuck to her lips and face. Her throat ached and she coughed and coughed again. "I can go – in a patrol. I don't need a bus. No fuss."

Olivia stroked her hair. "Yeah, we all know you're tough. But Regan – Anita has more than one or two enemies among the brass. If it looks to anyone like you might've walked away from this – well. This has gotta be a good shoot."

"It was," Regan gasped. "It was. He was going to – he would have – she had to. She had to do it." Another fit of coughing wracked her. "She had to do it. A man draws down on you, you gotta – you gotta – you gotta put him in the ground." She tried to get her feet under her and get up.

"Lie still," Olivia said. "Shh, shh, lie still. The bus is coming."

"No," Regan gasped, fighting to get up, fighting against Olivia's restraining hands. "Gotta tell – she saved my life. Gotta tell – good shoot, it's a clean shoot."

"Okay," Olivia said, giving in. "Okay, here we go."

Helped to her feet, Regan leaned against Olivia as shooting pains went through her abused legs. "Who's running the scene?" She had to strain to speak above a whisper, and the effort made her cough again, doubling over. Her chest ached, ached like it had with a bullet in her lung .. _no, that was gone, that was the past ... Or maybe this was ? Has it happened? Is it going to happen?_

_Where the hell is Marco? I'm his partner. He should be here. **I'd**  be here if it was him who'd been shot – no, not shot. I'm not shot. Focus, Regan, dammit, head in the game!_

_Where's my partner? Where is he? Why am I alone?_

" Captain Cragen has taken charge of the scene," Olivia said. Regan blinked and blinked again and made herself look at Cragen, in the here-and-now, the here-and-now where she is not shot and where she has no partner.

"I have to talk to him," Regan said. She staggered forward, Olivia holding her up. Stabler appeared at her other side, supporting her as well. They helped her towards Captain Cragen. "Captain," Regan told him hoarsely, "she saved my life." Cragen nodded, but Regan wasn't satisfied. She grabbed his arm. "She  _saved_ my  _life_. She  _saved my life_. It was a good shoot. She didn't have a choice. It was a  _righteous shoot_."

"Okay," Cragen said. "I understand."

"It was a good shoot," Regan insisted in a cracked whisper. "Don't jam her up. She was  _righteous_."

"You need to sit down," Cragen told her gently.

"Come on," Olivia said. "Come and sit in a radio car until the bus gets here. Come on."

"It was a good shoot," Regan whispered.

"I gotcha," Stabler said, and picked her up as if she weighed no more than a child. He carried her in his arms out of the alley to where the street was already filling with patrol cars and uniformed cops. He put her in the backseat of one of the patrol cars. "There you go. We'll get you out of here soon. Can you tell me what happened?"

Regan nodded. The movement made her nauseous again and she swallowed hard. "He – grabbed me – hit me – I blacked out – then I was tied up. I couldn't – he gagged me, he tied me. I couldn't – move – I couldn't – " A spasm of coughing bent her double, hard enough to leave her retching. "I was – he – I – " She stopped, swallowed hard, and then the words slipped out without her meaning to say them. "I didn't anybody would come." She lowered her head to her hands. If she couldn't stop the tears, at least she could hide them.

To her surprise, it was Elliot Stabler who hunkered down beside her, one big hand on her arm, the other cupping the nape of her neck. "We'll always come," he said. "Do you hear me, honey?  _We'll always come_."

Regan didn't say the words that hung between them.  _No-one came for Mary_. She just nodded and snuffled and tried not to cough too much.

They put her in the ambulance not long after that, Olivia climbing in beside the stretcher. Regan greyed out for a while on the ride, let the arrival at the hospital all go past her in a blur of people in different coloured scrubs moving her and handling her. She let them do what they wanted and tried to remember that she was in New York and she hadn't been shot, not today. Still, she stared every time the door opened.  _My partner should be here_. Regan didn't want to see Marco coming through that door, because of what came after Marco, but she kept expecting him.  _He's my partner. He should be here. Where's my partner? Where's my goddamn partner?_

_You got no partner. Not here. Not anymore._

Someone looked at the tape on her face and told her something about abrasions and waiting. Someone else put a mask over her mouth and nose and told her to breathe slowly.

The mask smelt of plastic and Regan had to concentrate hard to keep her breathing slow and even.  _Plastic air. Hospital smell._

Any minute now her partner would come through that door and someone would ask him about her next-of-kin and he would say –

"Regan, can you hear me, I need you to breathe slowly. Try to be calm. Can you try to be calm for me?"

Regan nodded for the doctor, squeezing down the panic, trying to be here and not elsewhere, trying to work out where  _here_  was.

Her clothes were cut away from her and put in plastic bags. Olivia Benson held her hand while a doctor did a sexual assault exam. Regan tried to tell them it would be negative, but Olivia reminded her gently that she had been unconscious, so Regan lay there while they probed her, tears stinging the grazes on her cheeks.

"Take the evidence to the lab," Regan told Olivia when they were done.

"It's okay," Olivia said. "I can wait with you."

"No," Regan said. "By the book. For Anita Van Buren. I don't want any fucking questions about any of this, do you understand? She  _saved_  my  _life_." Raising her voice made her cough again and she doubled over. The mask tasted of plastic. The whole hospital tasted of plastic. Tasted of  _hiss, thump_  stale air – her head spun and Regan closed her eyes.

When she opened them again Olivia was gone and there was a doctor there. "Let's get this tape off you, okay?" he said gently. "I'm going to numb your face with some lidocaine and then use a solvent on the glue. We don't want to take off any more skin than we need to."

Regan nodded.  _Just yank it off_ , she thought desperately, almost ready to yank it off herself and flee the E.R, regardless of the fact that she had no shoes and no coat and was only dressed in a hospital gown flapping open at the back.  _Hiss, thump_.

_It's not that time. It's not that place._

It was all that time and place and always would be. Regan was bathed in cold sweat and her heart was pounding.

"Just hold still now," the doctor said.

A noise at the door made them both turn.

Jack McCoy stood there.

Of all the unbearable things that had happened to Regan that day, the expression on Jack McCoy's face as he stood in the hospital doorway looking at her was by far the worst.


	55. Lights And Sirens

_To suffering there is a limit; to fearing, none."_

_Francis_   _Bacon_   _Sr._

* * *

 

_Apartment of EADA Jack_   _McCoy_

_Manhattan_

_10:20 pm_   _Wednesday 22 November 2006_

* * *

 

The sound of Casey tripping over her own shoe woke McCoy from a doze. He raised himself on his elbow to see her hunting around on the floor. She was already dressed.

"You're leaving?" he asked.

"We both have an early start," Casey said. "It's better if I go." She perched on the edge of the bed and leaned down to kiss him, a brief peck that McCoy made more of, pulling her down to him with one hand on the small of her back and the other sliding up her thigh. Casey gasped and pressed closer to him, brushing her lips over his teasingly. McCoy tangled his hand in her hair and held her still, teasing her in turn before parting her lips with his tongue for a long, lingering kiss.

When he pulled away from Casey her eyes were unfocused, her face flushed. "Are you sure you want to go?" he asked her.

"Not so much," she murmured, leaning into him. "You do such terrible things to my judgement."

"Oh, to your  _judgement_ , is it? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

Casey giggled and then caught her breath. "Oh, do that again. Just – oh."

"What? Tamper with your judgement?"

"If that's what the kids are calling it these days." Casey began to unbutton her blouse again. McCoy helped her. He was just about to push it from her shoulders when Casey's cell phone began to ring. "Shit."

"Don't answer," McCoy said, but Casey was already fumbling beside the bed for her bag.

"That's the ring tone I use for the cops, I have to – Casey here. Uh huh. What?"

She froze, phone to her ear, expression stunned, and just then McCoy's own phone began to ring. Casey met his gaze, mouthed  _Answer it_.

The chill that washed over McCoy utterly vanquished desire. Urgent late night phone calls were never harbingers of good news. Casey's expression left him in no doubt that the two calls were not coincidence. That took it from bad news to very bad news. Moving mechanically, McCoy picked up his phone from the bedside table.

_"_   _Jack, it's Adam. Pick up the phone. Jack. Pick up the phone_."

" Jack, it's Anita."

_"We've found a car."_

"What's happened?" McCoy demanded harshly.  _What's happened? And who has it happened to?_

_"It's Danielle_   _Jack."_

"Everybody's going to be okay," Van Buren said. "Everybody's going to be okay, Jack."  _Not everybody **is**  okay. Everybody is  **going to be**  okay._

_"There's really no good way to tell you this so I'm just going to say it."_

"Who?" McCoy asked. "Goddamn, Anita,  ** _who_**?" Out of the corner of his eye he saw Casey half turn towards him, distracted from her own phone call by the tone of McCoy's voice.

" Olivia Benson from Special Victims went with Markham to Mercy," Van Buren said. "She's dinged up a bit, but – "

" _What_?" McCoy asked. "What – Anita. Start again."

Van Buren told him, bare bones of the story: Edward Walters, Regan Markham, an alley and Anita happening to be passing on her way to her car. Walters dead before he could do any permanent harm. Regan on her way to hospital.  _Dinged up._

McCoy thanked her distantly and cut the connection.  _Any permanent harm._ Years in the DA's Office and more bitter personal experience had taught McCoy that lack of permanence and lack of severity were not necessarily the same thing.

Casey was already buttoning her blouse again. She picked up McCoy's pants from the floor and tossed them to him.

"That was Don Cragen," she said. "Did you – "

" Anita Van Buren," McCoy said, pulling on his pants and reaching for his shirt. " Edward Walters attacked Regan Markham."

"Same-same," Casey said. "I've got to get to the scene. You coming?" McCoy didn't answer her, pulling on his shirt, and Casey paused. " Jack? You coming to the scene?"

McCoy shook his head. "I'm going to Mercy."

"Oh," Casey said. "Right. Okay. You go to the hospital. I'll go to the scene. Do you know where my other shoe – don't worry. I see it." She pulled it on, hopping towards the door. " Don said Regan is  _fine_ , Jack. I'll see you later."

Seconds later, the front door closed behind her.

McCoy was not much slower. He was in a cab in less than five minutes, and he spent the ride trying not to remember how many times he'd taken a trip like this before – in a cab, in a cop car, in the DA's town car, to the hospital, to a safe-house that wasn't safe, to a car in a lane in the woods…

He tried not to think, not to imagine, but it was a losing battle. McCoy'd read the file on Walters. He'd seen what Phillip Watts had done with Walters's crime as a template.  _Dinged up_.  _What the hell does Anita mean by 'dinged up'? What the hell does 'no permanent damage' mean?_

_Regan Markham in an alley_ became  _Mary Firienze in a basement garbage room_  became  _Alex Borgia in the trunk of a car Toni Ricci on the bloodstained carpet Danielle Melnick on a stretcher –_

_Enough!_  McCoy told himself. He paid the cabbie and got out. For a few moments he stood outside the hospital doors, not sure whether the chill he felt came from the winter night or whether it came from within.  _Familiar face, dead eyes bulging, tape mashing her lips against her teeth –_

He ran his hand over his face, wiping away cold sweat.  _Gotta go in there._ He couldn't make his feet move. Don Cragen told Casey that Regan was fine. Anita Van Buren said she was going to be okay, that she was 'dinged up'. McCoy couldn't make himself go through the doors to find out what any of that meant.  _Gotta go in there_.

But in there –

_Trunk of a car and the flies – bruised face against hospital pillows – blood-stained carpet -_

" Mr McCoy!" McCoy looked up to see Olivia Benson standing in front of him, carrying several large plastic bags. He recognised the suit Regan had been wearing that day.

"Detective," McCoy said, and swallowed hard. "Is she okay?"

"She got pretty beat up," Olivia said. "But nothing that won't mend. The SAE kit was negative." The detective paused. "Are you here to see her?'

"Yes," McCoy said, a little surprised she'd asked.

" Mr McCoy, she's not doing too good," Olivia said gently. "You need to think about whether or not she'd want you to see her."

"Not doing too good?" McCoy echoed. " Anita said she'd be okay, how badly was – what – what happened to her?"

Olivia shook her head. "No, I don't mean physically. I mean – she had a rough time. She's a little bit unglued. You might want to wait until she's been able to get herself together."

"She's not doing too good so you left her on her own?" McCoy asked harshly.

"She wanted me to," Olivia said, meeting his gaze levelly.

McCoy shook his head and turned away. "She's in the E.R. still?"

"Yeah. Third on the left after the nurses' station."

McCoy walked away from her. He found the nurses' station, found the cubicle third on the left. He looked through the open door and saw Regan –

_And the flies are the worst part, the buzzing. A couple fly into McCoy's face and he bats them away. He looks down into the trunk of the car and sees them crawling across the tape that silenced and suffocated Alex. One circles and then lands on her open eye. Then the smell hits him, blood, vomit. If for the first instant after he saw her McCoy wanted to wake her up, lift her out of there and carry her to safety, now he knows absolutely and unquestionably that she is dead. Dead. Her eyes are open and blank and whatever made her Alex_   _Borgia is gone from them._

Saw Regan gagged with electrician's tape that had been wound around and around her head –

_Flickering blue screen showing a familiar bruised face with tape wrapped around and around, arms twisted behind her and a pool of blood beneath her head and McCoy knows in that second that Mary might have been alive when they put her in the ambulance but nobody comes back from what's been done to her. Her eyes are half open, fixed and sightless._

Saw her with one eye swollen nearly shut, half her face discoloured and caked with blood –

_Her red hair is vivid against the green of the carpet. Her face looks even paler against it. Her face is pale because the blood that should course through her veins and light her cheeks with a delicate flush is soaking into the carpet beneath her, caking her shirtfront, spilled from the deep gash in her neck. Her eyes are open. McCoy imagines he sees defiance in them, knows in the next instant that it's only imagination, that there's nothing to see in Toni_   _Ricci's eyes and never again will be._

Saw the oxygen mask over Regan's mouth and swollen bloodied nose, the hospital gown baggy on her lanky frame, her legs and arms bruised and welted from the ropes –

_Eyes open for ever, always and forever open and unseeing, in the trunk of that car, on the carpet, on the concrete floor …_

_Red hair and blood – blonde hair – broken body in a hospital bed – tape and blood and -_

With all the dead women in the room staring accusingly at him with their ever-open eyes, McCoy stood frozen, thinking despairingly  _I couldn't lose another one of you, I couldn't, not one more, I tried to keep you safe I tried I tried_  –

And then Regan reached out past the doctor towards him and the movement broke the spell.  _Dinged up_.

_Not dead. Dinged up._

Not dead, and looking at him with mute appeal. McCoy put aside the guilt of  _I tried to keep you safe_  because he might not have been able to do that but –

_That was never what she asked._

Memory banished imagined nightmare.  _Regan folds the cloth and wipes McCoy's forehead, her touch impersonal despite the intimacy of the act. She looks down at him with dispassionate kindness. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she reaches out to brush his hair away from his forehead. "I'm here," she promises, as she has been through all the darkest hours of the night._

McCoy ignored the doctor's half-formed protest. "I'm here," he told Regan, taking the hand she held out to him. She gripped his fingers painfully hard and he put his other hand over hers as he perched on the edge of the bed. "I'm here."

The doctor looked at their clasped hands. "Family?" he asked.

"We work together," McCoy said.

The doctor raised his eyebrows but said nothing. "I'm almost through here," he said.

Regan used her free hand to pull her mask down. "I'm sorry, Jack," she said. Her voice was hoarse. "I tried to – I couldn't breathe, I didn't know what to do – he just –" A fit of coughing wracked her.

"Mask on," the doctor said, taking it from her fingers and putting it back over her mouth and nose. Regan shook her head and tried to move it again. " Ms Markham, you need to keep that on and you need to hold still."

McCoy squeezed Regan's hand. "It's okay. I know. Just let the doctor work."

She subsided, not looking reassured. When the doctor peeled the last of the tape from her face, revealing bloody grazes and abrasions across her cheek and lips, Regan pulled the mask down again. "You  _don't_  know. I didn't – " She stopped, coughing, and batted the doctor's hands away as he tried to put the mask back. "If I'd been –that's why – " Gasping for breath, she crushed McCoy's fingers in a desperate grip, her voice rising as her agitation increased. "If I'd – no, dammit, leave me alone!" she snapped at the doctor, pushing him away. "I just – let me – " Another fit of coughing doubled her over.

"Can you give her something to calm her down?" McCoy asked the doctor as he rubbed Regan's shoulder.

"We'd rather not," the doctor said. "She's had a couple of nasty knocks to the head and her blood alcohol is up. Regan, do you understand? You have to calm down, Regan, do you understand? Take slow breaths. Take it easy."

Regan let the doctor put the mask back on her, but she was stiff with tension. McCoy had seen victims of assault panic at even casual physical contact. Regan's anxiety didn't seem to be of that nature. She didn't flinch from him. In fact, she clung to his hand – but she was panic stricken, nonetheless.

"A nurse will come in and put a dressing on those grazes," the doctor said. Regan nodded tightly. "I'll be back in a little while to see how you're doing."

As soon as the doctor left the cubicle Regan yanked the mask away from her mouth again. "I have to get out of here," she said huskily.

"Not yet," McCoy said. "Let them take care of you first."

Regan shook her head. "No, you don't – don't understand. That's when it goes wrong. First I don't – " She was doubled over by another fit of coughing but kept forcing words out. "Don't know – what I should – what to do – then I get lost – the hospital – that's how it – " A sob tore through her.

"Calm down," McCoy said, alarmed by her struggle to breathe. He tried to put her mask back on.

"I couldn't do  _anything_. He got the – the drop on me – and I – and I –" Another sob shook her. She pulled at the mask, trying to untangle herself from the oxygen line, trying to get off the bed.

McCoy stopped her. "Regan, Regan, calm down, it's okay."

"No," she said hoarsely. "No, it's not." McCoy put the mask over her mouth and nose again and she pushed his hands away, shaking her head. "I get it wrong – this time it's Anita Van Buren – if she gets jammed up – for my fault, it's my fault! I didn't have to, but she had to – " Regan tried to say something else but couldn't get the breath to do so, heaved a gulping sob and then another. She started to get off the bed.

"Regan, come on." McCoy put his hands on her shoulders to stop her and felt the shudders running through her as if she'd been swimming in the mid-winter Hudson. He drew her to him and put his arm around her shoulders, feeling her shaking as she gasped for breath. "Calm down, calm down," he said as she sobbed and choked against his chest. "Calm down."

"Don't let them take me," Regan said desperately, lifting her head to look imploringly up at him. "Don't – "

"Nobody is taking you anywhere," McCoy said firmly, drawing her head down to his shoulder.

All of a sudden she gave in, sagging against him.

"I was so scared," she whispered in a rush. "I was so scared and I didn't know what to do." She began to cry quietly.

"It's over," McCoy said. "It's over now. It's over." He untangled the mask from around her neck and put it back over her mouth, and Regan let him, then put her head back down on his shoulder, fist clenched in his shirt. "You'll be all right now." McCoy was not entirely sure if he was talking to her or to himself. "You'll be all right." Regan nodded, eyes closed, tears trickling down her cheeks.

Glad that the worst of her panic seemed to have eased, McCoy settled her against him and ran his hand over her hair. It was ragged now around her neck where the doctor had cut the tape away and spiky with dried blood. McCoy smoothed it down and then cupped his hand around the nape of Regan's neck, gently kneading the tense muscles there until Regan sighed and went completely limp against him.

McCoy looked up to see Casey Novak standing silent in the doorway.

If he had not been facing the door he wouldn't have known she had even been there. For a long moment Casey held his gaze over the top of Regan's head. McCoy opened his mouth to speak and Casey shook her head at him. Still without a word, she turned and walked away.

_Fix that tomorrow,_  McCoy thought, knowing even as he thought it that tomorrow would be too late. He could go after her, explain –  _She's upset, Casey_ – but that would leave Regan alone.

_And someone has to be with her until the dark hours have passed._

"I'm here," McCoy told Regan.

"I can tell," Regan murmured, sounding almost normal. McCoy ran his hand over her hair again, and she heaved a shaky sigh. "God, I'm sorry I'm such a mess."

"Nah," McCoy said. "You're just – having a very bad day."

Regan gave a little whimper that might have been a laugh. "Is there some understatement competition you're entered in?"

"Citywide," McCoy said.

"Yeah, you just won," Regan said. She loosened her grip on his shirt and smoothed out the creases she'd made. " Jack, Anita Van Buren – Olivia said she might catch it over this. That she has enemies in the department?"

"Don't worry about it," McCoy said. He rubbed her back. "She does have some enemies, that's true. But she'll be alright over this."

"Are you sure?" Regan asked.

"I'll  _make_  sure," McCoy promised.

"Thank you," Regan said. She turned her head to look up at him. "I'm sorry I interrupted your evening."

"So long as next time you get jumped by a violent serial rapist, you make sure it's in office hours," McCoy said dryly, and Regan snorted.

"I'll remember," she said. " Jack – I'm okay, I'll be okay. If you need to – if you want to go. I'll be fine."

"I know," McCoy said, not loosening his arm from around her shoulders. Regan sighed a little and settled more comfortably against him. "So tell me, Regan, what happened to that good-looking narcotics cop you were dancing with? He give you the slip?"

She laughed again and stifled a cough. "Just what kind of a girl do you think I am?"

McCoy looked down at the bloodied face behind the oxygen mask, at the deep rope burns around the wrist lying on his shoulder. He freed a strand of hair that was trapped beneath the mask straps and tucked it behind her ear. "The tough kind," he told her.

Regan's lip trembled. "Not so tough tonight," she said shakily. " Walters – he was all over me."

"Yeah, maybe," McCoy said. "But he's the one in the body-bag. And you're the one who walked away."

"Is that how it's supposed to work out?" Regan asked, and McCoy was surprised to hear a genuine question in her voice.

McCoy tightened his arms around her. "Who knows if that's how things were  _supposed_ to work out," he told her. "I'm just glad it's how they did."


	56. Ever After

_One Hogan Place_

_8.15 am Friday 24th November 2006_

* * *

 

The rain stung McCoy's face as he dashed from the taxi to the doors of One Hogan Place. As he pushed through the doors he heard running footsteps splashing behind him and turned to see Casey Novak likewise sprinting for shelter.

He held the door for her and she darted past him, stopping to brush raindrops from her hair and shoulders. "Thanks," she said.

"Looks like the rain's set in for the day," McCoy said.

"That's appropriate," Casey said. She didn't need to elaborate: McCoy knew she was talking about the funeral they would both be attending that afternoon.

"It doesn't always rain," McCoy said, thinking back to bright, sunlight graves. "But you're right – it seems more suitable when it does." They walked toward the elevator together. "Do you want to get dinner tonight?"

"Like a post-funeral date?" Casey asked, pressing the call button.

"When you put it like that it sounds fairly crass," McCoy said.

"I know what you meant," Casey said. She stepped into the elevator and hit the button for her floor, and then hit 10. "I think probably not, Jack."

"Raincheck?" McCoy suggested.

"No," Casey said. McCoy raised his eyebrows and she gave a little shrug. "I don't think it's a good idea."

"You didn't seem to think it was all that bad an idea on Wednesday night," McCoy said, stung.

"It wasn't," Casey said. "But we need to be sensible about this, Jack. Where can this go? An illicit affair, sneaking around, then what? Our jobs are too important to us to put them at risk for a fling." She paused. " _My_ job is too important to  _me_ to put it at risk for a fling."

"Are you sure it's a fling?" McCoy asked. The elevator stopped at Casey's floor. She didn't move. After a moment the doors closed again and the elevator continued upward.

"It was pretty clear to me that it was a fling on Wednesday night," Casey said quietly, looking straight ahead.

McCoy had half-expected something along those lines since she'd seen Regan in his arms at the hospital and turned and walked away. Still, he was surprised how angry it made him. "Is  _that_  what – I should have sat and watched her have hysterics?" McCoy said.

"Do you really think I'm that much of a bitch?" Casey said.

"Then what – ?" McCoy asked.

"You broke a land speed record getting to the hospital," Casey said.

"I seem to remember you hightailing it out of my apartment after your own call from Cragen," McCoy said angrily. "Now you've got hurt feelings because I didn't what – wait for you to come back?"

"I went to the  _scene_ , Jack," Casey said. "Look – you remember the time that son-of-a-bitch came after me in the office?"

"I'll never forget," McCoy said, and meant it.

She shrugged. " Olivia rode with me to the hospital. She was there when I woke up. And you – "

"I came to the hospital!" McCoy protested.

" _After_  you went to the scene."

"But Casey, back then we weren't – we were colleagues," McCoy said.

"Exactly, Jack," Casey said, with the same expression on her face as when she played a trump card in a cross-examination. McCoy shook his head and Casey held up her hand to stop him. "Look, it's like you said. No-one likes to go home alone after a win. It was what it was. Let's leave it there."

"You clearly find me easier to resist than I find you," McCoy said. He reached out and brushed her fringe away from her eyes. It was a transparent move and the wry smile that quirked Casey's lips told him she saw it as such - but she turned her head to follow his touch, all the same.

"Nothing about you is easy, Jack McCoy," Casey said huskily. She closed her eyes for a second, and then looked straight at him with absolutely no artifice. "We both know my judgement gets a little uncertain around you," she said. "Be a gentleman, Jack. Don't take advantage of that to let me ruin my career."

McCoy traced the line of her jaw with one finger. "You're a hell of a lawyer, Casey," he said regretfully, letting his hand fall back to his side.

"Back atcha," she said.

"Are we going to be okay?" McCoy asked.

Casey grinned at him. "Until the next time you go all  _cave-man_  on me and try to take a case away from me because I'm a  _girl_."

McCoy held up his hands in mock surrender. "I'm totally reformed, sensitive, new age, and all the rest."

"Good," Casey said. The elevator doors opened on the 10th floor and McCoy stepped out. "Hey, Jack," Casey said, and he turned back. "Try to be careful who you win cases with, okay?" She hit the button to close the elevator doors before he could respond.

McCoy turned towards his office, shaking his head a little. Casey was making the sensible argument – but it was still a little bruising to McCoy's ego to know that Casey's logic so easily swept aside any attraction she felt to him.

_Take it as a mixed blessing. Branch would come down on us like a ton of bricks._

McCoy settled himself at his desk and picked up his phone. " Colleen, would you send Mr Chen to see me when he gets in?" At her acknowledgement, he hung up and turned to reviewing his notes for witness prep.

It was only a quarter hour later that a knock on his door made him look up. Qiao Chen stood awkwardly in the doorway. "Qiao," McCoy said. "Close the door. Take a seat."

Chen did so. McCoy could see the younger man was nervous. " Mr McCoy," he said. "I'm glad you called. I wanted to tell you how much I appreciate the opportunity to work with you here in major felonies, how much I've learned."

"Good to know," McCoy said, recognising the attempt to manipulate him. "Qiao, when you came up here from Rackets I told you it was for what we thought was going to be People v Walters, but turned out to be People v Watts."

"Yes," Chen said.

"Both those are closed now," McCoy said. "One way or another. So it's time for you to go back to Rackets."

"But – " Chen said. "But – was my work not good?"

"Your  _work_  was fine," McCoy said. "You have a future with the DA's Office, Qiao."

"In Rackets," Chen said glumly.

"For now," McCoy said, and smiled to soften the blow. "You need more court time. I'll tell your bureau chief to make sure you get it. There will be other openings."

Chen looked down at his hands. "And Regan Markham?"

"I don't follow," McCoy said coolly.

"Are you sending her back down to Fraud?" Chen asked.

" Ms Markham will be staying on the 10th Floor," McCoy said.

"I'm ten times the lawyer she is!" Chen burst out. "I made the Dean's list  _every semester_ at Yale. I was first in my year on my bar exam! Everyone knows Markham barely scraped a pass on her second try! Down in Fraud it's practically a Bureau hobby, trying to find a legal question Regan Markham  _can_ answer without a textbook!"

 _Bureau hobby …_ Young ADAs were competitive – and arrogant. It was nothing new to know they were turning on the weakest member of the herd. When McCoy had been a young ADA, it had been a myopic overweight lawyer called Carl Bogdanovich who had been the butt of everybody's jokes. In later years, McCoy was ashamed to remember the cheap points he'd scored at Bogdanovich's expense.

Regan Markham had been on the receiving end of the same treatment. McCoy was a little surprised how much he resented it.

"You may be ten times the lawyer, Mr Chen," McCoy said, anger sharpening his voice, "and for all I know you'll always  _be_  ten times the lawyer. But you aren't one tenth the prosecutor."

"How can  _I_ be a better lawyer and  _she_ be the better prosecutor?" Chen demanded.

"The fact that the idea puzzles you proves I'm right," McCoy said. Chen glared at him, angry and baffled.  _And young. Very, very young._  McCoy forced himself to make allowances. " Mr Chen. Have you heard the saying that it's not whether you win or lose, it's how you play the game?"

"Yes, of course."

"You play to be the best player on your team, Mr Chen," McCoy said, trying to explain. "That's an admirable ambition. But Regan Markham plays to  _win_. That's why she's on  _my_  team."

"Sure," Chen said, throwing up his hands and standing. "Whatever you say, Mr McCoy." As he turned to the door, he muttered under his breath: "Guess the rumours about major felonies are true."

"What rumours are those, Mr Chen?" McCoy barked. Chen hesitated, then shook his head silently. "That's what I thought. Better get your things packed, Mr Chen. I think you'll find it'll be quite some time before you're back on this floor."

It was about a half-an-hour later when Colleen Petraky opened the side door to McCoy's office, a file box in her arms. " Mr McCoy, you wanted to know when we got the extra desk out of Ms Markham's office?"

"Thanks, Colleen," McCoy said. "How did you go with that list?"

"All here," she said, holding out the box. "Where do you want me to put it?"

"I'll take it," McCoy said.

He carried the box down the hall to Alex Borgia's old office and set it down. Chen's calendar, his pot plant, his framed photos were all gone, as was the second desk. McCoy spotted the familiar, battered file box under Regan's desk and pulled it out, setting it beside the box Colleen had given him.

An hour or so later McCoy was on his way to the conference room for a deposition. The elevator doors opened and he glanced towards them to see a familiar but unexpected face.

"Regan!" he said, stopping dead.

"Morning, Jack," she said. The left side of her face was almost back to normal but her right eye was still swollen and blackened and the grazing and bruising had ripened. The ragged cut of her hair was even more obvious than it had been in the hospital and it stood out around her head in a dirty blonde halo. The welts the ropes had left on her neck and wrists had scabbed over, dark against her skin.

Theatrically, McCoy consulted his watch. "What kind of time do you call this?"

Regan flushed, stammered: "I was giving my witness statement down at One PP for the inquiry into the shooting, I – "

"Regan, I'm  _joking_ ," McCoy said. "I didn't even expect you in today." He took her by the shoulders and studied her face. "Are you sure you're up to it?"

She turned her head, hiding the worst of her injuries. "I think so."

"Yeah?" McCoy said sceptically, putting his fingers under her chin and turning her face back towards him.

"Yeah." She endured his scrutiny but wouldn't meet his gaze.

"Because you're looking pretty interesting." McCoy let her go.

Regan snorted. "Yeah, well, I made a six year old scream for his Mommy on the subway this morning, so no matter what else happens, the day hasn't been a total bust."

"How'd you go at One Police Plaza?" McCoy asked and then saw a paralegal down the hall trying to catch his eye. "Dammit, I have to go – listen, tell me later, okay?"

"Okay," Regan said. McCoy squeezed her shoulder and, reluctantly, went.

* * *

 

Regan turned a little and watched McCoy stride off down the corridor.

_Well, that wasn't too bad._

When McCoy had appeared at the hospital on Wednesday night Regan had all but lost the ability to distinguish between  _then_ and  _now._ The smell of the hospital, the persistent feeling of suffocation, and now Regan knew with hindsight the after-effects of concussion, had all combined to send her spiralling into confusion and panic. She'd been breathing plastic air and hearing  _hiss thump_  and thinking –

 _any minute now she'd be taken away and disappeared until there was nothing left of her but the machines hooked into her flesh_ hiss thump  _until she was nothing more than a shadow on the lives of those around her. The antiseptic smell got into her nose and she could taste_ hiss, thump  _plastic and the bubble of panic rose higher and higher in her chest._

_She tried to explain all the things she needed to explain to McCoy, about Anita Van Buren and Marco and people making up for her mistakes, about the hospital and what would happen, about how much she needed to get out of there – but the words wouldn't come out, not in order, and she couldn't get her breath, and she had to get out of there and she couldn't get free, couldn't get away and she was going to disappear and this time it would be forever -_

_And then her panic had cleared enough for her to recognise the here and the now, and the **here** had been in Jack_  _McCoy's arms._

_"Calm down, calm down," McCoy said to her. "Calm down."_

_"Don't let them take me," Regan begged him. "Don't – "_

_"Nobody is taking you anywhere," McCoy said sternly, drawing her head down to his shoulder. He smelt of whiskey and women's perfume and sex. It was a reassuring reminder that he belonged to the real world outside the hospital, a real world without antiseptic. And maybe if he belonged outside the hospital, Regan could believe that she did too._

_She'd been wondering where her partner was, the question getting increasingly frantic as her panic mounted. In that moment, she'd realised she had her answer, for better or worse. Your partner is the one who turns up at the hospital and doesn't care that you're freaking out and doesn't take no for an answer, that's who your partner is, and Regan's partner had her in an unbreakable embrace._

_Relief washed over her. She allowed herself to lean against McCoy as her tears washed away the panic and guilt and fear, as his touch soothed the tension from muscles and the loneliness from her heart._

Waking up the next morning with a hangover of combined tequila and concussion, Regan had been embarrassed at the memory. At the time it had seemed entirely natural. The next morning it had seemed a terrible imposition.

When McCoy had called her to ask how she was and remind her to take as much time off as she needed, Regan had been relieved that he hadn't said a word that might indicate he even remembered her panic.

 _Nor today_.

Regan shrugged carefully out of her coat, turning to the office she used. She put her hand into the pocket of her jacket and ran her fingers over the metal shape of the cufflink there.

_"Detective Benson, my clothes – from Wednesday – are they down in forensics?"_

_"Sure_."

_"I had something in my pocket. My jacket pocket. I'm not sure it's evidence of anything."_

_"What is it?"_

_"A cufflink. A man's cufflink. I'd like – if it isn't needed – I'd like it back."_

_"I'll see what I can do."_

Regan closed her fingers on the tiny piece of metal that now carried so many associations for her. When she had been frustrated by McCoy's seemingly capricious attitude, the cufflink he had dropped in the first raw moments of horror hearing what had happened Mary Firienze reminded her that he was a man struck by grief, and she should make allowances. When she had struggled with the demands McCoy placed on her, the requirement to lie not just to Gorton but to Casey Novak, she had gripped that cufflink to remind her of the first fresh pain of grief and steel herself to the task. When she had lain helpless, captive by Edward Walters, that cufflink had reminded her that her fate was not  **her** fate alone.

And today, at One Police Plaza, she'd clenched her fist around that same cufflink and concentrated on turning her inchoate memories of terror and helplessness into the right formula of words that would let Anita Van Buren walk away from shooting a man armed only with a knife.  _I was suffocating – I knew I had seconds to live – he told me he was going to kill me -_

Regan wasn't sure she'd got it right. The thought that van Buren might get jammed up for protecting her made her gut twist.  _Jack will make sure she's all right,_ she told herself.  _He promised._

At the door of the office she stopped dead, and then leaned back out into the hall to check that she was in the right place.  _Yes_. But her desk was gone. Only Chen's, with his careful collection of personal memorabilia, remained.  _Oh._ Her heart gave a painful thump and her throat swelled.  _Guess I'm going back to Fraud. Guess Jack McCoy doesn't need an assistant who can't take care of herself, who gets drunk and jumped and needs rescuing, can't blame him, he needs someone he can rely on, I was lucky to get this job in the first place and I should have known I could never keep it._

Then the athletic pennant tacked to the wall caught her eye:  _Seattle Storm_.

 _Now why would Chen follow the Storm?_ Regan wondered. She took a step further into the office and looked around. A bulletin board held a couple of stories clipped from the newspapers:  _Paper Pervert In Prison_  read one, and Regan skimmed the text and realised it was about the Jennifer Walker case.  _Verdict: Forrest No Victim_ was the other, with a picture of McCoy leaving the courthouse after the Forrest verdict. If she looked closely, Regan could see her sleeve beside him, the only part of her not cropped out of the picture. It made her smile, and then wince as the expression pulled at the grazes on her cheek.  _Yeah, Jack, you're the hero in **everyone's** story._

Regan tossed her coat over her chair and opened the top drawer of her desk. Pens, pencils, bottle of Advil, legal pads in the next drawer, full bottle of scotch in a familiar brand in the bottom. The wall by the bookshelf held a dry-erase whiteboard calendar with dates for Regan's upcoming court appearances written in Colleen's neat handwriting.

The framed photo on the bookshelf gave her pause until she picked it up and recognised the grinning blonde in the picture – and if she hadn't, the scrawled ' Lauren Jackson' across the bottom would have told her.

When McCoy knocked on her door later that morning she held up the photo. "How'd you know she's my favourite player?"

"I'm psychic," he said with a sly grin, and then shrugged. "She plays the same position, it seemed like a good guess."

Regan leaned back in her chair and looked around the office. "All this stuff," she said, trying to find the words.

" Colleen's a demon on ebay," McCoy said. "One more thing." He took something from his pocket and turned to the door. Regan got carefully to her feet and took a few steps to see what he was doing. When McCoy took his hands down she realised he had been fitting a new name plaque to the holder on the door.  _ADA Regan_   _Markham_.

"What do you think?" he asked her.

"Looks pretty good," Regan said, throat a little tight.

"Looks like it belongs," McCoy said. He put his hand on her shoulder for a second. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm holding up," Regan said.

McCoy gave her a penetrating look. "How'd it go at One PP?"

"Okay, I think," Regan said. She made her way carefully back to her desk and lowered herself into the chair. "I've been a witness before – not as a victim, but the game's the same."

"Are you  _sure_  you should be here?" McCoy said, with a look that let Regan know he hadn't missed how cautiously she moved.

"Best place for me," Regan said flippantly, but she meant it, and perhaps McCoy read that in her face, because he nodded and didn't press the point. "Is Lieutenant Van Buren going to come out of this okay?"

"I think so," McCoy said. He put his hands in his pockets and leaned against the doorframe. "Walters didn't have a gun, but he had a knife. The circumstances were clearly exigent." He shrugged. " Arthur and I will get into it a little bit, if we need to."

"Will you keep me posted?"

"Sure." McCoy said.

" Jack," Regan said, and reached into her pocket and fished out the cufflink she'd picked up from his carpet the morning their trial preparation had been interrupted by Don Cragen's phone-call, the early morning call that had brought the bad news to send all their worlds askew. She held it out to him. "I found this. On your floor."

McCoy came closer and stretched out his hand. Regan placed the cufflink carefully on his palm. McCoy looked down at it for a moment.

"I thought I lost it," he said.

"No," Regan said.

"You know," McCoy said, "Alex Borgia gave me these."

"I'm sorry it took me so long to get it back to you," Regan said.

McCoy closed his fist around the tiny piece of metal. "Don't worry about it," he said. "It's no big deal." He looked sideways at her. "Are you coming to Mary's funeral?"

"It seems like the thing to do," Regan said, and then, uncertain: " _Is_ it the thing to do?"

"It's the thing to do," McCoy reassured her. "Meanwhile, does the fact that you're at your desk in your office – "

"Looking at my press clippings on my bulletin board," Regan added. "Checking my calendar for my upcoming court dates."

"All of that," McCoy said, smiling. "Am I to take that to mean you're ready to work?"

Regan nodded.

"Good," McCoy said. " Timothy McMillan's lawyer filed notice of a diminished capacity defence this morning. Drug use and an easily led personality caused McMillan's criminal acts."

"Will it fly?" Regan asked.

McCoy shrugged. "You tell me," he said. He reached one long arm and plucked a law report volume from her bookshelf. "Start with People v Hanover and work your way back," he said, setting the volume in front of her. "I'm in chambers on this Monday morning."

Regan smiled. "All right, Jack," she said. "I won't let you down."

"Never thought you would," McCoy said. His fingers lingered on the cover of the book, then brushed lightly over the back of Regan's hand as he turned to leave. At the door, he paused, one hand on the doorframe, the other in his pocket. "Not for a minute, Regan."

"Your confidence is greater than mine, then," Regan said dryly.

"That's why they pay me the medium bucks," McCoy said, grinning.

"Because you're more self-confident?" Regan asked.

"Because I'm a better judge of character," McCoy said. He winked at Regan and was gone, leaving her staring after him.

After a moment she looked down at the law book he'd put on her desk. Turning to the index, she found People v Hanover and started to read. The case was a grim one, the ruling couched in the driest of legal language.

Regan smiled as she read, all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you've read this far, consider leaving a comment. This story took me many hours of very hard work to write, and feedback is the only payment I get (even if I can't barter it for food!)


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